Teresa
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Collaborative fic with waterbaby134. Extreme AU, inspired by Jane Austen's "Emma." Jane and Lisbon are lifelong friends, but will a matchmaking scheme make them realize they are well-matched to each other? Romance/Humor/Friendship. Rated K to T.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! If you are reading this, you've taken the chance on an extreme AU. My writing partner, waterbaby134 and I are so glad you did. If you are expecting an exact copy of Jane Austen's _Emma, _I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. This fic is merely inspired by the story and setting, and while you might find some similarities, our main inspiration was the long and deep friendship between Emma and Mr. Knightley. The ages of Jane and Lisbon, and most of the other characters, range from the late teens to mid thirties, in order to be more realistic with the time. There is no Red John, and only superficial angst, in an effort to keep with the tone of an Austen novel. Please bear with us as we adapt the language and manners to this time.

Still skeptical? Well, you've gotten this far, why not give the rest a try? Chapter 1 is mine, and waterbaby134 and I will alternate chapters. Enjoy, and thanks again for being here!

**Teresa**

**Chapter 1**

_**England, 1815**_

"You seem quite pleased with the match your father has made," said Mr. Jane to his lifelong friend, Miss Teresa Lisbon.

She followed his gaze to the newlywed couple, smiling brilliantly as they danced a waltz in the immaculate ballroom. Music from the small orchestra swelled around them, and the room was lit by a thousand candles.

"I actually have somewhat mixed feelings, I'm afraid." She refilled her dainty glass with a bit of orangeade, trying hard not to shed any more tears than she had the morning her father and Miss May Nelson had wed a month before.

"Aw," replied Jane. "Think not that you have lost a father, but that you have gained a hen in your lovely coop."

She gave him a frown. "That's not very complimentary, Jane. Chickens are rather dirty birds, and the implication that my father is henpecked—"

"You know that's not what I meant. Shall I apologize for introducing them in the first place?" Jane quickly steered the conversation along a safer path. The way Teresa was looking at him, had they been alone, he would have suffered a hard swat to the arm. Miss Teresa Lisbon might appear the perfect lady in public, but away from judging eyes, she could be as tough as a day-old scone.

"Of course not. They are both very happy, and she has done wonders for his disposition. He had been quite lonely these many years since Mother passed. But I do hope your days as a matchmaker have ended." She gave him a look that reminded him of his governess when he'd been outside making mischief instead of studying his Latin.

Jane raised an eyebrow. "I don't know," he said, dipping the ladle into the punchbowl, then grimacing a little when he tasted the drink's overwhelming sweetness. He set down the glass cup again. "I think I rather have a knack for matchmaking," he continued. "As a matter of fact, my friend Kimball would be perfect for your young friend, Miss Edgecomb."

Teresa looked from the dance floor to Jane, eyes wide. "No!" she said, loudly enough to draw attention. She flushed in embarrassment and Jane grinned at her discomfort. She smiled sheepishly at her unintended audience and lowered her voice to a whisper.

"First of all, Miss Edgecomb isn't exactly the kind of uh, _lady,_ one discusses in polite society. And secondly, Summer is much too—" she searched her vocabulary for an appropriate descriptor—"_high strung_ for your stoic Mr. Kimball."

"On the contrary, my dear Miss Lisbon, she would be an excellent contrast to my friend—and you know what they say about opposites attracting. She would bring out the more outgoing qualities I'm sure lie deep and dormant inside of him, and his quiet nature would go a long way in, _ahem_, moderating hers. As to their difference in social standing," he continued, picking up a strawberry tartlet from the table of hors d'oeuvres and sweetmeats. "It is enough that the respectable Miss Lisbon has befriended her, in spite of her rather…unfortunate reputation."

"Still," countered Teresa, "his parents would never approve. And why are we still speaking of this? You are no matchmaker, Mr. Jane, and I will not participate in any more of your hackneyed schemes."

"They brought happiness to your father, did they not? Just look at them. They are both fairly glowing, like young lovers."

Teresa had to smile at the softness in May's eyes as she looked at her father, and the answering glint in his toward his new wife.

"I suppose you were right about them. But I contend it was mere luck, and perhaps written in the stars, far above your feeble machinations."

"No, Miss Lisbon, I believe I've hit upon my true calling. Through my long study of human behavior, I seem to instinctively know who would be right for whom."

She sighed and stopped just short of rolling her eyes, willing the conversation to end. He could be quite full of himself at times. But there had always been a competitive air between them whether it be bows and arrows or climbing trees. Of course it had much to do with the fact that they had known each other since she'd been in leading strings, had grown up as neighbors, playing together in their family's adjoining orchards. He was five years her senior, and over the years had been her protector, her adversary, and now, her closest confidant.

They knew one another as well as lifelong friends could, so Teresa expected this matchmaking idea was likely a passing phase with him, just as had been his dabbling in magic, his study of Mr. Franz Mesmer, and-during his brief time away from her when he'd been away at school—pick pocketing. That particular skill had been obtained through ruffians he'd met in the streets of London, when he'd gone through a slightly rebellious stage against a controlling father at home. If their country society only knew of the adventures he'd written of to her, they would be irrevocably scandalized. And his father would most definitely have cut him off long ago.

"Take your new friend, Miss Van Pelt," Jane continued, nodding toward the young wallflower who'd chosen to sit with the old maids and matrons near the far wall. "She has such lovely Titian hair, and a glorious figure—"

"Jane!" she chided, looking around lest someone other than her heard his inappropriate observations. He ignored her protest and carried on.

"No reason at all she should be by herself." He snapped his fingers as a thought occurred to him. "I know just the man for her, who would lift her out of her present lowly circumstances, who would take one look at her ample bosoms and forget she was a nobody."

"You are being vulgar," she said, looking protectively at May's distant relation, whose true parents had been a well-kept secret, according to Miss Van Pelt. "Stay away from her, Jane," she warned.

"Now, Miss Lisbon, I only seek to help. She is doomed to marry some farmer or country squire, all that beauty and sweet nature wasted on someone who won't truly appreciate her. She'll grow old before her time, her delicate fingers turning red from the laundry, her porcelain skin gone brown and freckled from working in the sun. No, she requires a man who is so wealthy he doesn't need to impress anyone, nor one who must please a calculating father." The last was said with a rare touch of bitterness, and Teresa instinctively touched his arm in sympathy.

"Such a man as that doesn't exist in this part of the world," she said softly, her eyes still on the awkward Miss Van Pelt, who was trying to sop up a small spill of punch with an embroidered handkerchief. No matter how emphatically Teresa begged, Miss Van Pelt refused to make herself available to dance, so she seemed destined to hover on the outskirts of society, poor girl.

"She'd be better off with that farmer you so quickly dismiss, or perhaps...a vicar might do…"

A thought bloomed in her own mind, the pastoral image of a tall, dark-haired young man walking alongside the lovely red-haired maid, fluffy white sheep frolicking on the verdant hillside as yellow daffodils lined their path on the way to church.

Jane glanced from Miss Van Pelt, and he took in Teresa's thoughtful face. She too was thinking of whom she imagined was best for the girl.

"A wager then," he suggested mischievously.

"What?" The daydream dissolved and the sound of music and laughter replaced the romantic scene of Teresa's imagination.

"You heard me. I bet that I might find a more suitable match for Miss Van Pelt than you could do."

"That is a terribly barbaric notion. I will not wager against a girl's very future. I have been blessed by wealth and the love of an indulgent father, who has allowed me to make my own choices about my destiny. I'll not seek to toy with her—"

"Balderdash," he said. "Wouldn't you like to see Miss Van Pelt settled, with a man who would take care of her, who could make her respectable in society's eyes?"

"Well, of course, but—"  
"Then prove it. Prove your devotion to the young woman. Between the two of us, surely we could find someone suitable for our dear Miss Van Pelt."

She hesitated. Certainly she had mourned the thought of Miss Van Pelt's future, having resigned perhaps too quickly to the idea that her shy ways and lack of connections would leave her irretrievably on the shelf. It would surely be a shame if such a sweet creature should be left to languor in the dusty drawing rooms of her current guardian—the fearsome widow, Mrs. Brenda Shettrick. Teresa shuddered at the very thought of it.

"I'll accept your wager," she said. "On the condition that Miss Van Pelt be the one to decide on her match, without any undue pressure from either of us."

Jane nodded. "That is acceptable to me as well. It is her happiness that is our primary concern after all. But what will the stakes be for our wager, aside from Miss Van Pelt's living happily ever after, of course?"

Teresa thought back on the countless pennies she had lost to the man at cards, the piglets she had been made to kiss and the riding boots she had stooped to shine because she could not resist taking one of his bets. She didn't know why she allowed him to egg her on, for such wagers usually resulted in her loss of either money or dignity, or both. Sometimes she swore the man was the devil himself, and she the unfortunate Faustus.

"Must there be a prize? Can't the winning party just claim bragging rights?"

"What would be the fun in that?" he scoffed. "Put your money—or other worthy assets—where your mouth is, my dear."

Jane knew he was in deep trouble when he watched her green eyes alight with mischief, which, if he were honest with himself, could directly be attributed to his sometimes questionable influence. He held his breath, waiting in pleasant anticipation for her pronouncement.

"The one whose match Miss Van Pelt does _not_ pick, must allow the winning party to chose a match for them." She smiled triumphantly, having proposed a prize worthy of Mr. Patrick Jane himself.

Jane's eyebrows shot up with sudden interest. "Let me be clear then. If Miss Van Pelt chooses _my_ suitor, I may be allowed to choose a suitor for you?"

She gulped, having not thought for a moment of losing this particular gamble, and all the ramifications therein. But the last thing she desired was for him to see her fear of this possibility.

"That is precisely what I propose. And of course, I may choose a lady for you, in the likely case that Miss Van Pelt will choose my match."

"And how far are you willing to go with this, Teresa?" he asked softly, using her given name as he normally did when they were alone.

"What do you mean?"

"The man I choose for you. I assume you mean that you would only give leave for him to merely court you, or are you promising to give up your own unwed status and—"

"As with Miss Van Pelt, obviously I would not be obligated to marry such a person unless I am given say in the matter. But yes, I will submit to being courted by whomever you choose for me, knowing full well that as my dearest and oldest friend, you would not pick someone I would find objectionable."

He chuckled. "But of course not. And you, as _my_ dearest and oldest friend, would not force me to court a lady whom I would find personally abhorrent."

"Naturally not."

"Then we are agreed?"

They each removed a white glove and shook hands, avoiding spitting into their palms as they would were they out of polite society.

They smiled into each other's eyes, a challenge lighting both emerald and sea-green as they enjoyed the familiar warmth and comfort of bare hand in hand.

A new dance—a country reel—was beginning, and Jane bowed in amusement to Teresa.

"Might I have this dance, old friend?"

"I would be honored," she replied, with a formal curtsy. As he escorted her to the dance floor, she was warmed to realize that he hadn't let loose of her hand, and she found the gesture had been both welcome and oddly soothing.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the middle of the dancing, the music suddenly ceased, and the dancers slowed awkwardly to a stop to await a likely announcement of some import. Apparently, a late guest had arrived, and the footman stepped forward to name him:

"Lord Walter Mashburn."

There was a surprised silence as the lone gentleman entered the ballroom, and as the man was immediately and effusively greeted by the host of the party, Teresa's father, the orchestra continued and the dancers resumed the reel, but the excited whispers nearly drowned out the music.

"There's my man," said Jane meaningfully in passing as they gracefully wended their way around other partners in the line.

"What?" she managed before being lost in the dance again, briefly partnered with another. When they were once again facing each other, he succinctly explained:

"I dare you to top Lord Mashburn as a possible candidate for our young maid."

Teresa was truly shocked. "You're mad!" she exclaimed, in passing once again.

Lord Mashburn was the very definition of a rake. Certainly he was wealthy and powerful, and as such was invited to all the best gatherings, but his scandalous involvements with actresses and merry widows left him the most reliably infamous topic of the ton. His charm and wicked good humor kept him popular with both gentlemen and ladies alike, and Jane considered him, aside from Lisbon, to be his closest friend.

Because of his rakehell reputation, however, Jane had never introduced Lord Mashburn to Teresa. He attributed that to a brotherly protectiveness, but in truth, Jane feared what would become of her should she be caught up in Mashburn's charismatic web. Unfortunately, as the dance reached its natural conclusion, he'd inadvertently caught the man's eye, and there would be no polite way to either abscond with Miss Lisbon or send her on her way. He sighed as he and Teresa applauded the orchestra, then made their way once more to the refreshment tables, Jane's hand resting companionably at her back. Lord Mashburn met them nearly immediately.

"Jane!" he cried, gripping his hand fiercely, as they each childishly attempted to make the other man flinch.

"Mash! So good to see you. It's been too long."

When they let go finally, each surreptitiously clenching and unclenching aching fingers, Lord Mashburn turned his attentions on the rather amused Miss Lisbon.

"And who is this lovely adornment on your unworthy arm?" he asked, noting her raised eyebrow with his own amusement.

"Miss Lisbon, may I present Lord Mashburn. Lord Mashburn, meet Miss Teresa Lisbon."

Mashburn took her hand in his, bending gallantly over it with a gleam in his eye oddly reminiscent of Jane's.

"So this is the redoubtable Miss Lisbon. You were remiss in telling me how lovely she is, Jane. From the way you described her, I expected she'd still be sporting pigtails and a pinafore. She seems fully grown to me. Were you afraid I would steal her away from you?"

His words were close enough to the mark that Jane felt himself stiffen before pasting on an answering grin. Teresa politely withdrew her hand that he still held long past propriety and Jane's lips quirked in odd satisfaction.

"Not at all, Mashburn. I feared in fact for your own sensibilities. Miss Lisbon wouldn't hesitate to cut you to the quick should you displease her."

"He exaggerates, Lord Mashburn. I'm honored to make your acquaintance."

Mashburn turned to Jane. "You were correct though, Jane; she is a horrible liar."

Teresa drew in a sharp breath, and Jane felt the need to intervene before she chose to strike both of them.

"I was just escorting Miss Lisbon back to her father. I'll seek you out later, maybe for a glass of whiskey? This infernal punch is not the thing."

"Very well, then, Jane. Take her off and hide her if you must. I would like to claim the next waltz, Miss Lisbon, if you would grant me the honor."

"She is not old enough to waltz, Mash, so you'd better find one of your widows to flatter with your dancing skills."

"But, Jane, I'm quite old e—" Teresa was saying, as he propelled her along, his hand now at her waist.

"A quadrille perhaps?" Mashburn called, then chuckled to himself as he watched his old friend Jane make a jealous fool of himself.

"Unhand me you rapscallion!" she chided, her voice low and taut. "Or I shall box your ears, audience or no."

"My apologies, Teresa, but that man is a regular bounder, never mind his fine clothes and charming ways. You're well to stay away from him, which is why I never introduced you."

"I'm aware of the man's reputation, Jane, and am perfectly capable of fending off such a Lothario. You needn't have lied to him; I was given leave to waltz two years ago and so I am also able to refuse a gentleman if I wish."

"But you have never come face-to-face with a gentleman such as this," he said, thinking of her innocent country ways. "Most young women of your station are unable to resist him, which is why he's left a trail of broken hearts strewn across most of England."

Something in her friend's tone made Teresa pause, and she stopped their egress from the dance floor by abruptly turning toward him. He bumped unceremoniously into her, and he automatically reached out to steady her.

"If his lordship is such a reprobate, I wonder why you have continued to befriend him."

Jane looked sheepish. "He's a man's man, Miss Lisbon. He is entertaining, quick-witted, and gamesome. We gentlemen are immune to his cunning appeal, unlike those of the fairer sex, but I've kept my obligation of being your protector by keeping him at arm's length until now, which was unfortunately unavoidable."

"Your willingness to keep him as a friend is more a commentary on your character than his, I'm afraid, Mr. Jane. It would serve you right if I went back and offered him a dance."

"You wouldn't dare," he said around clenched teeth.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Then his face relaxed into a grin as he tried desperately to defuse the situation.

"Why don't you turn your focus to our other dare?" He nodded toward the wallflowers. "Miss Van Pelt seems terribly lost and lonesome at the moment. Don't you owe it to her as her much more experienced friend to cast a bit of attention her way?"

"I thought Lord Mashburn was in the running for your match with Van Pelt. Have you changed your mind?"

"I was joking before," Jane lied. "I have another young man in mind entirely."

Teresa knew he was lying, but chose not to call him out on it. She would indulge him, however, for now.

"Very well; perhaps you are right. Miss Van Pelt does look rather sad, doesn't she?"

"Yes, very. You'll excuse me then, Miss Lisbon?" he asked, bowing formally. She curtsied politely, and watched thoughtfully as he disappeared into the crush.

A/N: As you can see, I've reversed the roles a little bit—Jane being more of the Emma character and Lisbon a little of Knightley. Please log in and let us know what you think. Waterbaby134 is up next!


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, waterbaby here. Welcome to my first-ever attempt at AU. Thankfully, I am lucky enough to be working with Donna, the seasoned expert (the Lisbon to my Van Pelt if you will.)

I really hope you enjoy this.

**Chapter 2**

Miss Grace Van Pelt tuned out the trite gossip of the women surrounding her, as she saw the familiar dark hair of Teresa bobbing towards her through the crowd. She was easy to spot, for despite her father's ample estate and considerable fortune, Miss Teresa Lisbon tended to favour rather plain gowns and simple, elegant hairstyles-unlike the elaborate fashions of others of her station. Her modest taste in her attire set her apart.

For her part, Miss Van Pelt was happy enough to blend in for the time being. It was only recently that she had been introduced to such refined society as this, and as such, had yet to find her place in it. It was far easier for Teresa, born into a life of privilege, to challenge the societal norms without posing much real risk to her reputation.

Teresa took a vacant chair beside her, and smiled.

"Grace, I wish you would dance at least once," she said. "There are many fine gentlemen in the room I am sure, who would love to dance with a beauty like you."

"And just as many fine ladies too, willing to oblige them."

"I hate to see you sitting here alone like this at every party. I daresay you would care for such events a lot more if you were to enjoy yourself for once."

"I take some pleasure in observing the crowd, and absorbing the atmosphere. For now, it is enough."

In truth, she was very fond of dancing, but unwilling to put herself forward so publicly until she felt some manner of acceptance from the society in the room. Mrs. Shettrick had been very firm about her conduct when she finally allowed Grace out into society. She knew there were whispers about her parentage and her somewhat questionable connections. To make a spectacle of herself would only serve as fuel to the fire.

Teresa sighed, but did not press the matter. It would be unseemly to get into a quarrel in front of everybody they knew. That being said, she was often to be found in heated conversation with Jane at these functions, but this was now regarded as so common an occurrence as to inspire very little notice.

"Do not feel that you must sit and keep me company," said Grace. "Surely there are people here with whom you wish to converse."

Teresa waved a hand dismissively at this remark. "And I shall see them all again tomorrow night at supper at Mrs. Dean's. I doubt there will be much change in their situations between now and then."

Another dance ended, and the gentlemen escorted the ladies from the floor, bowing as they took their leave. As the crowd parted, Mr. Jane was just visible standing by the punchbowl, in conversation with Lord Mashburn. He seemed to feel her gaze on him, and smiled at her, rolling his eyes as though to indicate his tiring of the conversation. She narrowed her eyes at him sternly, and he grinned at her once again before Mashburn once again commanded his attention.

Grace had watched this exchange with interest, and finally resolved herself to ask Teresa something she had long wondered.

"He is most handsome, Mr. Jane, is he not?" she asked.

"Certainly," Teresa agreed. She still vividly remembered Jane as the boy from her childhood, all merry eyes and dirty feet, as he often wandered the countryside without shoes, to the horror of his father. Nevertheless, as the years went by and the messy hair and shabby clothes of their youth had gradually been replaced by soft curls and tailored suits, she could hardly fail to notice he had indeed grown up to be exceedingly handsome.

"And I am told he is a man of some means, also?" Grace went on.

"He inherited some fortune after the death of his father," she answered.

"And he is unattached?"

"Currently, yes," said Teresa, though he would not be for long if she had anything to do with it. He had been living the carefree life of a bachelor for far too long, and she would like nothing better than to see her dear friend finally settle down. Of course, she knew many ladies who would be more than happy to be courted by him, but it would take a particular kind of woman to make him a proper wife. She would need to be strong-willed, spirited, and possess much patience with him, for Jane could be very irksome and at times, unpredictable. However, given the right woman, she was sure he would make a fine husband, and should she win their wager she would do her utmost to find the right person for him.

'You have been friends for a long time, you have said."

"Indeed, since childhood."

"Why, you have known each other longer than many married couples I know!" Grace exclaimed. "Forgive me for asking Teresa, but with so many circumstances working in his favour, I wonder why you do not seek to marry him yourself!"

Were they not in full view of polite society, Teresa would have thrown back her head and laughed at such an accusation. As it was, she contented herself with the smallest of giggles, and a slight sigh.

"Dear Grace, your imagination does run away with you. Certainly Mr. Jane has many qualities as to make him most eligible, but knowing him as I do, I can say with confidence that they are all offset by his mischievous nature, and inflated sense of his own grandeur. He is a fine friend to have, but I know him far too well for him to make me any manner of a husband."

"Surely, you could do far worse," said Grace.

"Yes, but I flatter myself that I could also do far better. I am not yet an old maid, Grace, and am fortunate to have a father who does not insist upon my marrying until I find a worthy candidate. But pray, let us not discuss this anymore. Tell me, did you enjoy the book I loaned to you?"

To Teresa's relief, Grace accepted the change of subject happily. "Oh indeed, I liked it very much. In fact, I confess I thought the protagonist to be rather like you, with her sharp tongue, yet winning manner."

"I should hope I am not so fickle as her though, as to declare myself to hate a man, only to marry him later."

"To be fair, she was not sensible of her own true feelings for much of the story. It could have been that she loved him all the time and simply did not know it."

"What a romantic you are, Grace!" said Teresa, jovially. "You would do well to be more guarded in your opinions, lest people take advantage of you."

Even as she said this, she had the thought that she herself could be accused of this crime, given the wager struck between her and Mr. Jane. But that was different. She sought only to help Miss Van Pelt on her way to happiness, and surely, there was to be no malice in that.

They continued to talk of music and literature as the party continued around them, until presently, Mr. Jane appeared at her side. Irritated at the interruption, it was with an ill grace that she turned to greet him.

He bowed to them both.

"Miss Van Pelt."

Grace inclined her head politely. "Good evening, Mr Jane."

"Miss Lisbon."

"Why is it that I can never get more than thirty minutes' peace from you?" asked Teresa, somewhat less amiably. Grace looked politely surprised at her friend's attitude, while Jane merely chuckled.

"Your scathing words would cut far deeper had I not been hearing variations of them all my life," he said. "Though as always, I commend you for your efforts."

"And as always, I find myself grateful I do not rely on your approval for my own self-worth."

Grace, uncomfortable with this sporting banter, excused herself and departed to engage in conversation with Miss Imelda Dean, a fellow wallflower like herself, though without the privilege of an intimate acquaintance with Miss Lisbon.

"My, my," said Jane quietly, after she left. "She is a most delicate little bloom, your friend, isn't she?"

Never one to stand for her friends being criticized, Teresa looked sharply at him. "She merely has a sense of propriety, a concept I should not expect you to understand."

"You are not always so proper yourself, Miss Lisbon, you'll remember. Why only last week I recall you vaulting over a stile like some common farmhand, after a runaway pig."

"Which I would not have had to do had you not let her out in the first place."

"You could have summoned one of your father's men to catch the animal."

"They were all busy with other tasks. She would have been in the next town over by the time they were able to assist."

"And so it was only natural that you should take the task into your own hands."

He smirked at the memory. Well-bred, well-raised Miss Teresa Lisbon, racing through the undergrowth in pursuit of the escaping hog was certainly a sight to be seen. He dared say that nobody else was ever permitted to see this somewhat wilder side of Lord Virgil's only child.

"It was either that, or leaving you to explain to my father what you had done."

"I appreciate your concern for my welfare."

"However misguided it might turn out to be."

They exchanged smiles, happy in the knowledge that they could tease each other so with no risk of hurt feelings or misappropriation.

"As much as I always enjoy your sparkling wit, Teresa, I actually came here to take my leave for the evening- and to request a favour."

"Oh yes?"

"Lord Mashburn wishes to take a shooting trip on the morrow, and I wonder if you might appeal to your father to allow us onto your estate for the day. The grouse are numerous, and the grounds so large we should not be in anybody's way."

"And how many in the party?"

"Lord Mashburn, myself, and three or four others."

"But Jane, you don't care for hunting. You have told me so many times."

"True, but it is a gentleman's sport. A manly pursuit."

"Then I am even more confused as to why you should go, seeing as you are neither."

His eyes sparkled with humour. "I can assure you my dear, I can be every bit the gentleman, given the right incentive, just as you are always the most perfect lady in the public eye. It's all about perception."

"Very well," she said. "I shall go to my father directly, though I am sure he will have no objection."

"I'll go and tell Mashburn. Thank you, Teresa. After the shooting ceases, perhaps I shall pay a call on you."

"I shall spend the entire day on tenterhooks with anticipation," she said.

Jane took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. She felt the pressure of the kiss through her glove, and had the sudden unsettling thought that perhaps she should very much like him to kiss her hand just once without the barrier of the glove between them, just to see if the sensation were any different.

She was so engrossed in this disturbing idea that it took her longer than it should have to realize that though he let go of her hand, his intense gaze had never once left hers. She felt her cheeks beginning to flush and quickly averted her eyes.

"Goodnight, Miss Lisbon."

He bowed deeply to her once more, and departed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With Lord Virgil's consent, the shooting party arrived early the next day at the Lisbon estate. Lord Mashburn, with his musket over one shoulder, surveyed the grounds with a critical eye.

"It is as fine an estate as any I have ever seen, Patrick. On whose land are we imposing?"

Jane groaned inwardly. He had been hoping to avoid this question. When Mashburn had told him of his intentions, he had proposed this location without telling him who owned it. He would much rather Mashburn and Teresa not cross paths any more than he could help. While close to both of them himself, there was something about the idea of them befriending one another that made him uneasy, so he endeavoured for as little carryover between the two friendships as possible.

"Lord Virgil's," he answered shortly.

"Indeed. Perhaps we should bring him a few grouse at the end of the day to thank him for his hospitality. Has he any family?"

"His wife, the Lady May. And a daughter from his first wife." He prayed the questioning would stop there.

"Charming," said Mashburn. "Well, gentlemen," he said, turning to the rest of the group. "Shall we begin?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa sat in the drawing room with a book as she heard the first gunshots cleave the air. She peeked out the window to see if she could possibly catch a glimpse of the shooting party. She had often seen the gentlemen come in with their game at the end of the day and their muskets slung over their backs. What a strange sensation it must be to carry an object of such power and capable of taking life in the blink of an eye. There must also be quite an amount of skill in hitting a moving target. As children, she and Jane had sometimes attempted to fling small stones at Mr. Bertram, her father's stable hand, who was gruff and always rude to them. Jane always missed, but her stones had made contact quite a few times, resulting in the two of them racing each other away from the stable, roaring with laughter, while Bertram waved his rake at them in annoyance.

Surely, shooting a musket would be much the same concept as throwing a stone, only bigger. She had always longed to try it, but of course her father would never consent to such a thing.

The door opened, and her father entered the room.

"I thought I might find you in here."

"Good morning, father. Are you well?"

"Of course, Teresa. Though May is very tired after last night's festivities. I told her to stay in bed, while I sent the maid up with some breakfast."

Teresa closed her book, and smiled gently at him.

"I'm glad to see you happy again."

"I only wish I could see you as happy, my dear," he said, taking a seat beside her. "I would never wish to put pressure on you, but in a few years, you will pass the marriageable age, and after I die, I do not know what will become of you."

"Let us not worry about such things now," she said.

"You will have plenty of money and land to sustain you when I am gone, but let me not go to my grave knowing that you would be lonely."

"What can I do to assuage your fears?" she asked.

"I wish that you make yourself more available to other men when we go out, rather than spending all your time with Mr. Jane," he said. "It gives the impression that he is your betrothed, and makes others unwilling to approach you."

"If they are too intimidated by one man to even come and speak to me, then they are not the kind of men that would interest me in any case," she said firmly. "He is my lifelong friend, he has no family, and I will not stop seeing him just to protect the fragile sensibilities of others."

"You put so much time into his interests, but my dear, you make things so much harder for yourself," continued her father. "Instead of standing in the corner with him plotting and scheming all night, mix a little more, perhaps even dance with some other men every now and then."

She chose not to respond to that, for fear she might say something regrettable. Her father noticed her stern countenance, and softened.

"It would be different if he were courting you, or seeking your hand in marriage. I would be very happy to see such a match; you know I have always liked him, and treated him almost as a son. But with circumstances what they are, I implore you Teresa; think of your own future for once. Time is wearing thin."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The dead grouse hit the ground with a soft thud. Mashburn prodded it with his toe until it rolled over, showing a direct hit to the heart.

"An excellent shot, Mr Kimball," he remarked.

Kimball tipped his hat expressionlessly and began to reload his gun.

"So that's five for you," Mashburn said, rifling through the bag of game they had collected so far, "two for me, one each for Mr. Rigsby and Mr O'Laughlin…and none for Jane."

Jane shrugged without any humiliation. "I've told you several times Mash, I have never picked up one of those infernal contraptions, and if luck favours me, I never will."

Mashburn rolled his eyes. "You know, it is very unusual for a man of your age to be so uneasy around firearms. They are only as dangerous as the people who carry them."

"Then I definitely won't have one," he said. "Do you not remember the day we met? I seem to remember you accusing me of being a 'manipulative cardsharp, more dangerous than he seemed.'"

The two men had first run across each other one particularly interesting night in London. While he confided almost everything to Teresa, the travails of that night were one story that would never reach her ears.

"In challenges of intellect, Jane, I would never dream of opposing you, but in more physical endeavours I think I am more than a match for you," said Mashburn, grandly. "What say you, Kimball?"

"Can we move this along? We're losing light," came the response.

The party of five moved on through the field, Jane lagging behind to walk with Mr. Rigsby, who brought up the rear.

"I don't believe we've been introduced properly," he said. "Patrick Jane."

"Pleasure to meet you," said the other man, shaking hands, cordially. "My name is Wayne Rigsby."

"Do you live in this area?" Jane asked. "I may be mistaken, but I don't think I have seen you out in society."

"I have just taken a sublet just outside of town. It was left to me by my uncle."

"My condolences for your loss." A quick glance at his hand revealed no wedding ring, but just for confirmation, he asked anyway. "And you come with no wife, Mr Rigsby?"

Rigsby raised an eyebrow. "You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Jane. Are you always this intrusive, or am I a novelty of some sort?"

"Don't be uncomfortable, Rigsby," chipped in Mashburn from the front. "He's this obnoxious all the time."

The shooting party retired an hour later, Mr. Kimball, Mr. Rigsby and Mr. O'Laughlin all taking their leave (and their grouse) and melting away in silence.

"Come, Patrick," said Mashburn, swinging the bag over his shoulder. "Introduce me to the landowner so I might pay my compliments for today."

"That won't be necessary," said Jane, quickly. "I can go and pass on your thanks. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"No," he said firmly. "As this was my scheme, I should be the one to do this. Let's go."

Jane had learned long ago that Lord Mashburn was not well accustomed to refusals of his will. Perhaps it would be better just to drop quickly by and see Lord Virgil and leave before Teresa emerged.

A redheaded maid opened the door and bobbed a curtsy.

"Good afternoon sirs," she said, and upon recognising Jane, smiled at him. "Mr Jane! How nice to see you. Shall I call Miss-?"

"No," Jane cut her off, perhaps a little rudely. "Or rather, no thank you Kristina. It was actually your master whom we'd like to see. Is he in?"

"Of course, sir," said Kristina, shooting him a confused kind of look. "Just let me go and tell him you are here."

When she returned, she bobbed a second curtsy. "Lord Virgil will see you in the drawing room," she said. "I trust you know the way, Mr Jane."

"Now I think I understand what is going on here," hissed Mashburn as they walked through the house. "You mentioned that Lord Virgil has a daughter, and by the maid's reaction it seems you are a frequent guest. Should I be reserving a day for a wedding that I haven't heard about yet?"

"I wouldn't commission the new suit just yet," said Jane, brusquely.

Lord Virgil took to Mashburn very quickly, particularly when presented with the best kill of the day for his table.

"You are welcome to hunt on my land whenever you wish," he said. "Mr Jane here has been around this estate for years, I'm sure he knows all the best spots."

Mashburn quirked an eyebrow at Jane, who determinedly kept a straight face. If he listened hard, he could hear movement in the next room, so he waited until the other two were absorbed in a talk about fishing before quietly excusing himself and going next door.

As he had expected, he found Teresa, sitting on the sofa, with a cup of tea in her hand.

She held the cup up in a kind of toast.

"Do you care for tea?" she asked, with a knowing smile.

"I hope you are being facetious," he said. "For you really ought to know by now how much I enjoy tea."

"I do indeed," she said. "And it still amuses me just as much."

He poured himself a cup, and took a seat on a chair opposite her.

"I think I have found my candidate for Miss Van Pelt's future suitor," he said. "He is a shy fellow, but not without charm. I think he will do for her very nicely. And you needn't worry, I have some very fine gentlemen in mind for you too."

"Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Jane," she warned him.

The door opened once again, Lord Virgil came into the room, succeeded by Mashburn.

"Ah! Here she is. Lord Mashburn, I should like to present my daughter, Teresa."

"Oh," said Mashburn, quietly. "Now I understand."

He aimed a disdainful look at Jane, who didn't fancy his tea quite so much anymore, especially when Mashburn turned his gaze on Teresa instead.

"Miss Lisbon," he said, bowing to her, affably. "We just keep running into each other, don't we?"

**OK, amateur hour over. Donna's up next!**


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Waterbaby and I are extremely gratified by all the positive reviews our story has received so far. Thanks for taking the chance! And as an English teacher, it also warms my heart to find there are so many Jane Austen fans, and that our fic is encouraging some of you to either reread her novels or even watch the movies (which are also great). Who would have thought fanfiction could be educational too?

Now, here is…

**Chapter 3**

"Why, yes, Lord Mashburn. A happy coincidence," Teresa agreed, avoiding Jane's eyes, though she knew they held a glint of annoyance in them she found extremely satisfying. "Do sit down, my lord. How was the hunting?"

The elegant man sat along with the others, taking in everyone's emotional reactions to his presence with one glance—a skill he shared with Jane, he had found. His eyes lit with humor as he refused with a polite waft of his hand Miss Lisbon's offer of tea.

"Spectacular, Miss Lisbon. I was just thanking your father for the opportunity to participate in my favorite pastime on such a lovely piece of land."

Lord Virgil nodded in gratitude. "Anytime, Mashburn, anytime indeed."

"Do not be surprised if I take you up on that," replied Mashburn, his eyes remaining pointedly on Teresa. She flushed prettily and Mashburn's charming smile spread slowly across his face. He felt Jane's eyes bore into his back like heated daggers.

"I was just telling Miss Lisbon about the young man in our hunting party today," Jane said, deftly changing the subject. "A Mr. Rigsby, was it?"

"Yes, yes. Pleasant fellow. My late father was friends with his uncle. When his uncle recently passed, and Rigsby moved here, I felt a familial obligation to look out for him, you understand. He should have no trouble at all finding a wife to stock that fine new house of his."

The men laughed at Mashburn's suggestive pronouncement, while Teresa's lips turned down slightly, though not for the reason Mashburn thought at first.

"Forgive me, Miss Lisbon. A morning in the company of men has made me forget my more...gentile manners."

"Oh, please, think nothing of it. I'm quite used to being in the company of Mr. Jane."

Mashburn threw back his head and laughed. "She's got you pegged, Jane. But speaking of which, I must say I find it rather...unusual that you would be alone with Mr. Jane in this room without a chaperone. Is that a common occurrence?"

The room grew awkwardly silent, and Mashburn could feel Jane's tension coming off of him in waves. It was difficult for Mashburn not to laugh aloud again. Lord Virgil was the first to comment, however, partly in embarrassment for what must seem a fatherly oversight.

"I do apologize if the situation between Mr. Jane and my daughter seems inappropriate, Lord Mashburn. I suppose I have gone quite lax where Mr. Jane is concerned, but I assure you, there are no improprieties here. We think of Patrick as a member of our family, and as such, Teresa's adoptive brother. They have been boon companions since Teresa's infancy, so I'm afraid I don't even consider how this must appear to a visitor. Forgive me, sir."

"Oh, forgive _me_, Lord Virgil. I didn't mean to seem critical-far from it. I was just curious, you see. Jane does seem to feel quite at home on your lovely estate. I was simply wondering if he has some prior claim here."

His meaning was more than clear to everyone, and Lord Virgil puffed up with paternal pride at the thought that such an important man had taken an obvious interest in his daughter. Mashburn, despite the distant rumblings of his rumored improprieties, was just the sort of powerful, well-spoken, man's man who would be able to tame Teresa's wild nature, yet never allow her to lapse into ennui.

"Only a claim to lifelong friendship," Lord Virgil hastened to reassure him, turning an affectionate smile toward Jane.

Jane could say nothing to that, of course, without seeming to presume much upon Lord Virgil's previous kindness. Indeed, Teresa's father had been more of a father to him than his own could ever have hoped to be. He supposed he couldn't blame the man for thinking that an adoptive brother would not be a suitable husband for his daughter.

_And from where had that disturbing thought emerged? _

"I am honored, Lord Virgil," Jane managed. "He has described my relationship to this family quite perfectly." He resolutely avoided Teresa's eyes in that moment, but he could imagine her amusement at his discomfort. Jane would have been surprised, however, at Teresa's rather serious and thoughtful glance at him.

"Very good," said Mashburn, obviously pleased. "Then I hope I might request the opportunity to call on your lovely daughter again, very soon. If Miss Lisbon has no objections, of course."

"Naturally you may, Mashburn," replied Lord Virgil almost gleefully. "You needn't even have asked, need he, Teresa?"

It was Teresa's turn to feel distinctly uncomfortable. "That would be very…pleasant, my lord," Teresa said blandly.

"I look forward to it," replied Mashburn, his eyes caressing her. She felt a brief chill shiver down her spine at the boldness of his look. Mashburn turned away then, releasing her from his spell, and picked up with her father their earlier conversation about fishing. She and Jane remained unusually silent.

She covered her discomfort by reaching for the teapot again, wishing heartily that it was Kristina's strong Irish coffee she'd been allowed to sip when she was down with the ague.

Her father had never behaved in such a manner before, blatantly offering her up as she'd seen him attempt to sell one of his prized mares. Why was her single state so important to him all of a sudden? He'd certainly allowed her to lapse out of her teens with no attempts to push her into the marriage mart, and Teresa had enjoyed the freedom to socialize as she pleased. Perhaps it was his newfound happiness as a twice-blessed man that was causing him to wish similar contentment upon her. Yes, that must be it. Despite his concern for her welfare, however, she didn't have to like it. (Teresa somehow missed the hypocrisy of her mental protests, given her recent wager with Jane.)

She felt Jane's speculative eyes upon her, and she risked meeting them. She was surprised to see, instead of the expected humor at her plight, the blank expression he put on when he tried to bluff her at whist.

"More tea, Mr. Jane?" she asked softly.

"By all means," he muttered, offering forth his favorite blue cup for a refill as if he were begging for fortifying brandy.

It was the only teacup of its kind among all the other expensive tea sets in the household, and Jane insisted it was as well-balanced and sturdy as any of her father's finest pistols-despite a chip or two and a hopelessly tea-stained interior-and he would refuse to drink from any other if that one was available to him. She always had it on hand when she was expecting his company, and it made her smile to think how like he was to this bit of mismatched china.

She was relieved to see Jane smiling back at her in return, and, as always when he looked at her in such a way, her cares seemed to lift from her troubled heart. She was mightily grateful in that moment to have as dear a friend as Jane in her life.

He toasted her mildly with his blue cup, echoing her earlier salute, and settled back against the settee cushions, crossing his legs as was his wont, his own fears momentarily assuaged. The reason behind his recent fearfulness, however, was something he wasn't quite ready to contemplate.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa was excited for the diversion that night that would come with Mrs. Emmaline Dean's dinner party in honor of her visiting niece, Miss Imelda Dean. A few weeks prior to Imelda's arrival, Mrs. Dean had invited Teresa to tea to seek her advice on the guest list for the party. The story was that Mrs. Dean's sister-in-law, much despairing that her daughter had not been a smash in London society, might find her prospects more likely in a country setting, given her shy, awkward ways. Mrs. Dean had therefore enlisted Teresa's aid in inviting a few respectable families whose households included some of the most eligible young men of this and surrounding parishes, as well as young ladies who might be suitable companions to an impressionable girl of nineteen years.

Because of this happy circumstance, Teresa knew the guest list intimately (thankful that it would _not_ include Lord Mashburn), and was anxious to introduce Miss Van Pelt to the gentleman whom she believed would be her very soulmate. She recognized that Miss Imelda Dean must then be steered away from the worthy bachelor—a young vicar who wished to settle down—and that this would take considerable finessing on her part. One never knew where one's heart would lead, and it would be an unmitigated disaster should Imelda set her sights on the vicar, or the vicar on Imelda.

Teresa, her father and new stepmother arrived early to help Mrs. Dean with last-minute preparations, and she was pleased to see that Miss Van Pelt was already there as well, given the younger girl's new friendship with Miss Imelda Dean. The two girls greeted the ever-popular Miss Lisbon with bubbling anticipation of the evening.

"Miss Lisbon," Miss Dean said, curtsying shyly. "It is an honor to meet you at last."

"The honor is mine," replied Teresa. "I do apologize that we did not have a chance at last night's ball. Your aunt has sung your praises to the rooftops, so I am sure we will become fast friends."

Miss Dean flushed, suitably flattered by the regard and attention. At that moment, Miss Dean's aunt called her away, leaving Teresa alone with Miss Van Pelt.

"Miss Van Pelt, I am so glad to find you here as well. I am certain this will prove a lovely party, and that you and Miss Dean shall find the company quite engaging."

"Thank you, Miss Lisbon. I feel so welcome here already, but I admit I much prefer smaller, more casual gatherings."

"Perhaps you might entertain us on the piano forte later. Mrs. Shettrick has done nothing but brag on your musical abilities."

Miss Van Pelt colored again, and Teresa was pleased to see how becoming such a blush was on her, brightening her eyes and only vaguely clashing with her dark red hair.

"She is too kind, yet much given to exaggeration," replied Miss Van Pelt.

"Well, then, we must prove her wrong then, hadn't we?" Teresa said with a grin.

Other guests began arriving, including Mr. Kimball and his mother; Mr. Craig O'Laughlin and his father, John, along with a few other young people, handpicked from Teresa's long list of acquaintances. And then, of course, arrived the man Teresa was most pleased to see—Mr. Luther Wainwright, vicar of their local parish church.

Tall, slim and boyishly handsome, he cut a fine figure in his parson's robes each Sunday, and he had expressed to Teresa on numerous occasions his desire to find a bride to complete his household and occupy the impressive though empty house provided him by the church. He had called on Teresa often, and had accompanied her on her various charitable visits to the poor and infirm in the parish. Teresa saw him as charming and rightfully proud of his important position at such a young age. She could not wait to introduce him to Miss Van Pelt.

"Miss Lisbon. How delightful to see you," Mr. Wainwright greeted her fondly, taking her hand and bowing gallantly over it.

"Mr. Wainwright—just the man I have been longing to see." She took him aside in a private corner of the candlelit drawing room, missing utterly how his eyes lit up at her kind words and familiar manner. "I have recently met a new young friend, who has seemed rather at a loss of late. You see,"— she stepped closer to the vicar so that her whispered words might be better heard—"she comes from an…unfortunate background, and is uncertain as to how she will be received in society."

"Oh?" he managed, heart picking up speed as he looked into Teresa's earnest green eyes, so close to his. Her delicate scent of violets nearly made his head swim.

"I would consider it a personal favor should you show a special interest in her. Those of the parish would follow your lead, for if Miss Van Pelt is acceptable to the vicar, then…well, you take my meaning, I'm sure."

"Yes, of course," he managed. "But might I say that the mere fact that the highly beloved Miss Lisbon has befriended her is more than enough of a recommendation—"

"Ah, but you are a gentleman, as well as our vicar. There is truly no better stamp of approval than that, you see."

"Why, thank you, Miss Lisbon," said the young man, fairly beaming. "And I am most anxious to do anything in the world to contribute to your happiness. Please, introduce me to the lady at once."

"Oh, Mr. Wainwright! You have made me exceedingly pleased! This way," she said, taking his hand in such a way that, were she not the beloved Miss Lisbon, others would deem highly improper.

Teresa's excitement faded considerably, however, when she happened upon the newly arrived Mr. Jane, in the process of introducing an unknown gentleman to Miss Van Pelt. Teresa stopped so abruptly that Mr. Wainwright unceremoniously ran into her back. She barely noticed the slight bump.

"Pardon me, Miss Lisbon," Mr. Wainwright muttered breathlessly. Teresa watched Jane and the others, oblivious to the vicar, momentarily frozen by rage as Miss Van Pelt blushed at the stranger's attentions. As if feeling the weight of her stare, Jane inclined his head toward Teresa, his expression so haughty and amused that she had the very unladylike desire to run at him and strike him squarely in the nose, especially when he had the further audacity to wink at her.

"Come, Mr. Wainwright," she commanded, pulling her charge along toward the trio with new determination.

"Miss Van Pelt!" she called, her interruption bordering on rudeness. "I have someone I just know you will want to meet."

Jane stepped aside in amusement, and the rather tall stranger awkwardly dropped Miss Van Pelt's hand. The young lady, unused to such demands on her attention, turned to Miss Lisbon and the harried vicar she had in tow.

"Miss Van Pelt, may I present Mr. Luther Wainwright, whom you might recognize as our vicar. Mr. Wainwright, Miss Grace Van Pelt."

Dutifully, Wainwright stepped forward and bowed in greeting over her white gloved hand, taking special care to show her every gallant courtesy, well aware of Miss Lisbon's intent appraisal.

"A pleasure to meet you," said Grace, curtsying in a manner worthy of her name.

Jane was doing his best not to dissolve into triumphant laughter at beating Teresa to the punch. He remembered his manners long before the infuriated Miss Lisbon.

"And a hearty good evening to you, Miss Lisbon," he said dryly. "Miss Lisbon, Mr. Wainwright. Might I present the newest member of your parish? Vicar, Mr. Wayne Rigsby, recently of Stockton-on-Tees. Miss Lisbon, Mr. Wainwright-Mr. Rigsby."

Polite introductions concluded, the small group lapsed into an awkward silence, no doubt attributable to Miss Lisbon's simmering ire and Mr. Jane's mocking amusement, though the other three could not quite place their fingers upon the source of the tension.

"Miss Lisbon," said Mr. Wainwright, breaking the ice, might I get you and Miss Van Pelt a glass of punch?"

"Oh," replied Teresa gratefully. "That would be lovely, wouldn't it, Miss Van Pelt?"

"Why, yes," agreed Grace. And Teresa bestowed upon Jane a satisfied lifting of her chin.

Jane grinned in concession of her point won; it was quite a coup for a young lady to allow a gentleman to retrieve for her a cold beverage at a dinner party.

"Mr. Rigsby is a friend of Lord Mashburn," Jane interjected, and proceeded to explain Rigsby's circumstances.

"How nice for you," said Lisbon politely, "to have such an influential gentleman as your sponsor."

"Yes, miss," answered the plain-spoken Mr. Rigsby. "Everyone has been very kind to me here, particularly Mr. Jane, for obtaining an invitation to this lovely party on such short notice. I know very few people in the area."

"Oh yes," she replied. "I am quite familiar with Mr. Jane's…_altruistic_ ways."

Jane smiled, his eyes mischievous. "Why thank you, Miss Lisbon. I am always flattered by your graceful…_concessions_."

At an impasse, the pair of old friends stared briefly into one another's eyes, a world of unspoken emotions passing between them. Indeed, they were quite oblivious to the pair of new acquaintances smiling at each other in humorous understanding. At that moment, Mr. Wainwright returned with the punch, and the conversation became pleasantly animated, as Jane and Rigsby related the tale of their morning hunt.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At dinner, Teresa's fury was reignited when she realized that Jane had somehow finagled it that Mr. Rigsby had been seated across from Miss Van Pelt, the vicar at the opposite end of the table, far out of reach of intimate conversation. Teresa sat in her usual spot beside Jane, fuming over her turtle soup.

"You are a golden-haired snake in the grass," she whispered rather violently to Jane. The conversation around them strangely afforded them a certain amount of privacy.

"All is fair in love and friendly wagers," he softly singsonged.

"Not if they want to _remain_ friendly," she replied, sitting back as their first course was removed.

"The vicar," he began, as a plate of sliced mutton was laid before them, "seems a rather pointless choice, I must say."

"What? Why? He is one of the most eligible and charming bachelors available. What problem have you with the vicar?"

"Oh, none at all. Don't get me wrong-he is quite respectable, if you don't mind how exceedingly tedious, arrogant, and self-righteous he is. But that's a matter of taste, I suppose. No, my dear Miss Lisbon, I maintain that your proposed match is wasted, for he is wildly enamored of another."

She made herself close her eyes and count to ten slowly, as Jane himself had once taught her, lest her temper get the better of her and embarrass them both.

"Whom, may I ask," she ground out over a tight jaw, "do you claim has purloined my vicar?"

Jane chuckled, taking a bite of the flavorful meat. "I must say _his_ choice for a match is rather sound, in that the lady in question is perhaps one of the most admired and beautiful in the country. She comes from a wealthy and prestigious background, and were she not in the habit of running barefoot through a pigsty, she would be a most worthy wife indeed."

Lisbon stared nonplussed at her friend, who continued to consume his mutton in ardent appreciation, his eyes sparkling merrily.

"You are stark-raving mad," she proclaimed when she was able. Her focus involuntarily shot down the table, where she immediately met the admiring gaze of Mr. Wainwright, who, while seemingly in deep conversation with the lady of the house, had barely taken his eyes off of Teresa the entire meal. He smiled brilliantly at her and Teresa flushed, then turned resolutely back to her dinner.

"Sheep dip," she said under her breath as realization slammed into her. "How could I have been so blind?"

"That, Teresa, is why you should leave the matchmaking to the tried and true experts." Catching the eyes of Lord Virgil and his perfectly matched wife, Jane gave his most charming smile and nodded politely to the happy couple, who returned his smile heartily.

"I despise you," said Teresa to Jane, though she was smiling at her father and lovely stepmother affectionately.

"And I you, my dear friend. And I, you."

A/N: I throw this back to the capable hands of waterbaby134. Thanks for reading. I'd love for you to review.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Judging by the reviews, I think I can consider my first foray into AU a success, and I know I speak for both Donna and I when I thank you all very much for taking an interest in our story. And I must say, it makes it a whole lot easier to write in this style, when your story partner is an English teacher.

As always, I hope you enjoy this.

**Chapter 4**

"Why would you not tell me of Mr. Wainwright's supposed partiality for me?" asked Teresa angrily, under cover of a lively conversation about politics from two gentlemen seated near to them. "A self-proclaimed matchmaker as yourself must have suspected it long ago."

Jane chuckled, sparing a glance at the hapless vicar, who still had yet to take his eyes off Miss Lisbon for longer than it took to put a forkful of mutton into his mouth. Yes, he had seen Mr. Wainwright's designs on his friend right off. Why, it had taken a month complete for him to so much as speak in Teresa's presence without stumbling over his words. After clearing this initial hurdle, however, the vicar had then proceeded to pay Teresa enough attention as to leave Jane in no doubt of his feelings.

Teresa, of course, had noticed nothing. She had merely treated him as kindly as she would any other acquaintance, never suspecting that rather than simply cementing a friendship, she was fanning the flames of affection.

"I confess, my dearest friend, to have found the situation far too amusing for me to wish to put an end to it. In fact, I was unable to determine which part I enjoyed most, Mr Wainwright's setting his sights far above what should be expected of his station, or your charming obliviousness to the issue, when it should have been as obvious to anyone as a blow to the head with a sledgehammer."

"A fate that may be shortly in your future, should you continue to vex me in this manner," she hissed quietly under her breath. Another quick glance up the table was met by a wide smile by Mr. Wainwright, which she weakly returned.

"Do as you wish Teresa, but causing me harm will not free you of the situation in which you find yourself."

"What would you have me do?" she asked Jane, quietly, who took a sip of his punch in the satisfied way he always did after successfully making mischief.

"How you respond to the poor vicar's admiration is entirely your own affair," he said. "But I should make up your mind quickly, my lady, for I see in his air tonight an intention to make his feelings known to you sooner than you may think."

She managed to contain herself from recoiling at this idea only by the arrival of the final course. She picked at her plate of fruit and cheese, eating just enough so as not to offend her hostess, but the evening's unpleasant revelations had done away with much of her appetite.

After supper, the pianoforte was opened and the ladies requested to favour the assembly with a song. In an effort to avoid doing any such thing, Teresa retreated from the crowd into a corner with her glass of punch. Miss Imelda Dean, as the guest of honour, was the first to take up the instrument and struck up a lively tune.

A few feet away, she spotted Jane with his new friend Mr Rigsby, deep in conversation. Jane seemed to be attempting to persuade the other gentleman into something, and she would wager a shilling that she could guess the subject under discussion.

Her suspicions were gratified when Mr Rigsby, at a small push from Jane made his way over to Miss Van Pelt and engaged her in conversation.

She was near enough to the pair to overhear some of their conversation and was able to glean from it that Mr Rigsby had a pleasant air and happy manners. Grace seemed well pleased by the attention, and grudgingly she acknowledged that Jane had chosen well, but she was not one to be beaten so easily.

Perhaps she had been unwise in her first choice for a suitor for Miss Van Pelt, but Mr Wainwright was hardly the only single man in the room. There were plenty of gentlemen from which she could choose to win Grace's heart.

She carefully scanned the assembly, searching for a suitable candidate, and was so intent on her task; she did not notice Jane had appeared at her side until he addressed her.

"Do you search for a suitor for Miss Van Pelt, my lady, or for yourself? For either way, I fear you are wasting your time."

"I search for a place in this room I can go to without being forced into the displeasure of your company," she said.

"Indeed. And this desire to be rid of me would have nothing to do with Miss Van Pelt's favourable reception of my choice of suitor."

After carefully checking that nobody was watching them, Teresa rolled her eyes.

"That she allows Mr Rigsby to speak to her is no great achievement on your part, Jane. It speaks to her own sweet nature alone. And do not think I didn't see you pressing Mr Rigsby to talk to her. If he truly admired her, such persuasion would not have been necessary."

"When two people are destined to fall in love, it is often they themselves who are the last to realize it."

"How very profound," she said, mockingly.

"It is certainly true in the case of yourself and the vicar," he said, a smile playing at his lips. She knew he wished only to goad her into a reaction, and the best way to punish him would be to ignore him completely, yet she could not help herself.

"You are mistaken. We have known each other near a twelvemonth, and he has yet to make me an offer. Why should he do so now?"

As the evening wore on, Jane had the pleasure of seeing Teresa, unable to find a reasonable excuse to reject him, consent to play at whist with her besotted vicar. He would feel rather sorry for the man, were it not so diverting to watch Teresa practically squirming in discomfort whenever her devoted suitor leaned closer to engage her in conversation, or offer to refresh her drink.

More than once, she had looked his way as though to entreat him to find some way to interrupt them. Were it any other gentleman, Lord Mashburn in particular, he would have been only too happy to oblige, but if his suspicions were correct, and Mr Wainwright _did_ intend to propose to her this night, he thought the man would appreciate having at least one pleasant memory of this event once Teresa was through with him. For as certain as the sun rose in the east, she would never accept his proposal.

The vicar was foolish indeed, to think himself a suitable match for Miss Lisbon. He would do better to choose a wife who should be his equal, for he would never be able to keep up with Teresa, whose intelligence and headstrong nature would be too much for him. Indeed, there were few men in town that would make her a suitable husband. Perhaps it would be more difficult than he had first anticipated finding her a suitor, once he had won their wager.

Lord Mashburn once again sprang to mind. Wealthy, handsome, and heartily approved of by her father, he seemed like the obvious choice. And yet, there was something within him that kept insisting that a union between them must be most undesirable. He desired happiness for both his dear friends of course, but separately. The idea they should find happiness with each other was what he found most disturbing.

It was with a happier attitude that he turned his eyes to his current matchmaking project. Miss Van Pelt and Mr. Rigsby seemed most comfortable in each other's company, and the gentleman in particular had eyes for no other.

It was his opinion that an excellent evening's progress had been made.

Teresa eventually managed to shake off the ever-persistent vicar, excusing herself in order to get more punch. She determinedly avoided Jane's eye as she did so, still vexed enough with him that she did not trust herself to act respectably around him just yet.

At the punchbowl, she encountered Mr Craig O'Laughlin, who was helping himself to a generous ladle of the brew, while his father, John, waited patiently beside, clad in a coat of striking scarlet.

"Miss Lisbon," the son greeted her. "A pleasure, as always."

She curtseyed politely, first to him, and then to the older of the two gentlemen.

"Good evening, sirs."

"Miss Lisbon. Your beauty grows with each passing day," said the senior, with a deep bow. "To think that one so fair should still be unwed is abhorrent. She would make a fine wife indeed, do you not agree, Craig?"

His son flinched uncomfortably. "One should never speak of a lady like this while in her presence, Father."

"Oh nonsense, I say nothing to Miss Lisbon that she would not have heard before. An angel such as she must have a great many admirers."

"You are too kind, sir."

"I speak only the truth," he said, fixing her with the deep gaze she had always found slightly unsettling. Mr. O'Laughlin, Sr. was reclusive by nature, and did not frequent social gatherings such as this, and had only been persuaded to attend tonight by the persistence of his son. But whenever he did come, the other guests gave him a wide berth. There was something mysterious about him that was slightly off-putting.

"I find it curious to see Mr. Jane is not hovering by your side as he usually is," he said, glancing about the room. "He must exercise caution, lest you should fall prey to the attentions of another man in his absence."

Teresa found herself wishing Jane were beside her at this point so as to divert the older man's attention from herself. Perhaps sensing her discomfort, his son then intervened.

"Father," said his son. "Mr. Renfrew is over there. Did you not wish to enquire about his travels?"

"Indeed I did," the older man agreed. "Thank you, my son. Miss Lisbon." He bowed once again. "Your humble servant."

"You must forgive my father," said Craig O'Laughlin as they both watched him move off through the crowd. "He has been unwell of late and the apothecary has prescribed several strange tonics which have had the effect of loosening his tongue."

"That is quite all right," she said, with dignity, though she had never experienced Mr. John O'Laughlin in any other way.

Craig O'Laughlin cleared his throat. " On another matter," he said, "I wonder, Miss Lisbon, if you would do me the great honour of introducing me to your friend." She followed his eyeline to see it set firmly on Miss Van Pelt.

She smiled charmingly at him. "With pleasure," she said.

The introduction was made, and the acquaintance established. Mr O'Laughlin spoke well, telling many amusing stories and anecdotes, with such wit and charm as should always be agreeable in a gentleman. After a few minutes of this, Mr Rigsby bashfully melted away into the crowd and Teresa followed suit, leaving the pair to themselves.

So pleased was she at having found a suitor on equal footing with Jane's, that the rest of the evening passed by in high spirits. Before long, the carriages were being summoned, and the guests departing for the night. She watched as Mr. O'Laughlin offered Grace his arm, and she was thrilled to see her friend accept it, and allow him to escort her to her waiting carriage. This was a victory indeed, a point she made no hesitation in telling Jane as she waited for her father to collect his hat and coat, and send for the horses.

"Are you now as confident in your abilities as before?" she asked, gleefully. "No doubt you thought yourself the certain winner, did you not?"

"Once again, I have fallen into the trap of underestimating you, Teresa," he said, with a smile. "But I stand by my choice. We have only now to wait and see where Miss Van Pelt's heart truly lies. Though I shall certainly be doing all in my power to ensure she makes the right choice."

"As shall I."

Jane's carriage was the first to arrive. He bade her goodnight and climbed inside, tipping his hat to her as a whip cracked and the horses began to move. She wondered what he was looking so pleased about as he drove away, and did not have to venture far for an answer. For when she turned about, Mr. Wainwright stood at her elbow, beaming at her once again.

"I wonder if you would grant me an audience," he said. "In a more private setting."

She flushed with embarrassment. "Whatever for?" she asked. "Surely you wish to convey nothing that anyone else may not hear."

Unfortunately, he never heard her reply, instead addressing her father, who had just emerged from the house.

"I beg the privilege, my lord, of your permission to escort your amiable daughter back to your estate in my chaise."

"Is that entirely proper, Mr. Wainwright?" asked Lord Virgil, raising an eyebrow at his daughter. Teresa tried with all the powers she possessed to communicate to him her displeasure at this plan, for she could think of only one reason the vicar should wish to get her alone.

"I am a man of God, sir," Mr. Wainwright reassured the older man. "Your daughter's excellent reputation shall remain untarnished."

To her horror, her father gave his consent, and Mr. Wainwright left them a moment to see to the carriage.

"Father," Teresa appealed to him. "Pray, do not make me do this. I beg you, withdraw your consent, and allow me to travel home with you."

But Lord Virgil was stern. "The choice for your future is yours, Teresa, but he is a respectable man, and must be given the chance to make his case."

For the second time in as many hours, she wished Jane were here. No doubt he would be able to think of some crafty way to remove her from this uncomfortable situation; he was talented at things like that. She remembered many occasions as a child when he had bamboozled her governess into reprieving her from afternoon lessons, so they might go down and play together by the stream or in the fields.

She loved to remember those simpler times, when there had been no concerns for courtship and marriage, and when the only companionship worth having was that of her dearest friend.

She did her best to avoid eye contact, as the carriage lurched down the road. She hoped very much that the vicar's bravado would fail him, and she should escape the awkward situation altogether. Her hopes were further bolstered when they trundled through the gates and up the sweeping drive of her home without him so much as uttering a syllable, and came to a stop outside her front door.

Hardly daring to believe her good fortune, she waited impatiently for the driver to open the door for her, though so anxious to be gone she would leap out herself were it not so very improper. But then she found her hand seized by the gentleman opposite her, and the driver retreated to a respectful distance.

"Miss Lisbon," began the vicar. "Long have I admired your beauty and vivacity, indeed ever since our first encounter, there has been no other woman who could possibly compare to you in my esteem."

She flushed once again. "Mr. Wainwright, you are too kind."

She sought to remove her hand from his; he held it fast and only a sincere desire to keep the interview on a pleasant note could have caused Teresa to keep her countenance. Mr. Wainwright was a good man, a holy man, and she cared for him as much as any of her other friends, but to be his wife was absolutely impossible. And whatever he might say, she knew at least part of his preference for her must be due to her father's estate and her own large fortune at his passing.

"After we are wed, you shall come to live in the vicarage with me," Mr. Wainwright went on. "And you shall always be at my side at Sunday Mass, so that the parishioners may be induced to follow my example of matrimony. Perhaps even your friend Miss Van Pelt shall be further encouraged by our happiness to seek a husband of her own."

These words were another blow to her, as she understood him to have not regarded Grace as a potential partner for even a moment. Lord, what a fool she had been not to see this before! This could have all been avoided, had she simply realized that her friendly attentions to him could be perceived as deeper overtures.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the vicar ploughed on.

"All that remains now is for me to assure you of the violence of my affection, and to request, with God as my witness, that you should be my bride."

Silence fell in the carriage, leaving Teresa in the most unenviable position of selecting the right words to convey her true feelings on this matter, hopefully without causing too much offence.

"Mr Wainwright, I am honoured indeed by your proposal, and you pay me a great compliment in wishing me to be your wife, but I cannot marry you."

The vicar, clearly with no expectation of such a response, was very much wrong-footed by this, and it took an interval of some moments for him to find his voice again.

"You refuse my offer?" he said, as though to confirm his ears did not deceive him. "May I enquire as to why?"

She would like nothing better than to get out of the carriage and flee into the house, but she was sensible of his right to a reason why she had so decidedly rejected him. But even as she tried to formulate a reply, he jumped in once again, with a knowing smile.

"I think I know what ails you," he said. "You cannot see yourself moving into a humble vicarage, after having such prosperity all your life. But you need not fear, for you will be restored to your rightful home as soon as your father is dead. I understand he leaves all his wealth to you, as well as his estate, and I promise you we shall take possession of it all as soon as we can."

"Mr. Wainwright," she said, barely controlling her anger over this incorrigible pronouncement. "I declare that you must not know me at all to think your living arrangements alone should cause me not to accept you. I should not care at all if my husband were to live in a stately home, a parsonage, or even a farm, if he should truly love me, and I, him."

"Then I see no reason why you should not accept me, especially given our feelings toward each other," said the gentleman, in such a satisfied manner as to make her even angrier.

"You presume too much, sir," she cried. "You have been most forthcoming with your feelings, but yet you know nothing of mine. Again I thank you for the honour of your proposal, but there is no possible way you could induce me to accept. It is my opinion that there can be no marriage without the warmest regard for the other party, and while I shall always consider you a valued friend, I do not admire you in the manner that a woman should her husband. And I venture that you do not love _me_ half as well as you say, at least not as much as you do the prospect of a great fortune and much land upon my father's death."

Her hand was released, and something stiffened in the gentleman's expression, enough to tell her that her instincts had been true. He desired her only for the boundless wealth he would get in the future, and not for any qualities she herself possessed. And to think she had thought him a good match for Grace! She was most ashamed of herself.

"You misunderstand me, Miss Lisbon," he said. "I sought only to console you at the prospect of leaving the home of your birth. I wish no ill to your excellent father, or his charming wife."

"On the contrary, your wish for his money and land is the only thing you have been truthful about in this entire conversation. You have no real affection for me at all, it was merely convenient for you to do so to achieve your goal, and so you did. But you do not love me, nor do I believe you ever will."

"And this is your final answer is it?" he asked, with little attempt at felicity.

"It is."

"Well," he inclined his head to her. "In that case, my lady, I fear we have no more to say to each other." He waved the driver forward to open the door. "Pass my compliments to your father," he said coldly, as the driver offered Teresa his hand to step down from the carriage. "I wish you luck in your future happiness, Miss Lisbon. Good night to you."

In her bedchamber, Teresa paced restlessly, ruminating on all that had occurred. To think a man of God should be so insufferable, and think himself so entitled to riches! And the very idea that by _her_ ministrations, Miss Van Pelt may have fallen in love with such a man was most distressing.

She knew she should never get to sleep should she remain in such a state of agitation, so with difficulty, she attempted to push the odious vicar from her mind, and instead focus on the positive aspects of the evening. Miss Van Pelt's reaction to her second choice of suitor had been most pleasing, and Jane's surprise at her procuring of a substitute so quickly, even more so.

Oh, to see his eyes grow wide with amazement had been the best reward of all, closely followed by his wide smile in appreciation of her cleverness. That he did have the most charming smile of any gentleman in town was not to be denied, and she did enjoy being the creature credited with bringing it to his lips. And how he would laugh tomorrow when she told him of what had transpired with the vicar this night, for not for a moment did it occur to her to conceal it from him. She would surely expect him to tell her if he were to consider proposing to anybody, for it would affect her most decidedly if he were to take a wife.

She had often wondered which of them would be the first to wed, had feared it now for many years. For what woman would allow her husband to spend so much time with another as Jane did with Teresa? And surely there was to be gossip when a gentleman called on another gentleman's wife so frequently.

In truth, it was very likely that they should see each other hardly at all, save for church, and the occasional assembly or ball. Their intimate friendship would most certainly become less so, under the influence of time and distance, those destroyers of all but the strongest of relationships.

The idea gave her no comfort, and indeed, much sadness as she finally climbed into bed and snuffed out the light.

**A/N: I'll be honest. I think I enjoyed writing the "Lisbon rejects Wainwright" scene just a little too much. I now step aside for Donna, who in her usual brilliance will no doubt give us a great next chapter.**

**(P.S.: Donna here. Just wanted to wish our American readers a Happy Thanksgiving! And I'll get to your reviews of ch. 3 very soon. Also, my next chapter might come very soon since I'm on vacation this week. In the meantime, please be sure to review waterbaby's brilliant chapter.)**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: You will find in this chapter where I've stolen the most from "Emma" so far, but with a twist on things that will hopefully make it a new experience still. I hope you enjoy it.

**Chapter 5**

Teresa and Jane had a standing appointment each week at Jane's home for a bit of archery. Both very competitive, this was the one sport in which they found themselves consistently even in skill, so that it usually came down to something as small as the strength of the breeze or the archer's temperament that decided the victor. Jane knew the moment Teresa arrived at the targeting area that she would be the one to have a good day.

He smiled and kissed her cheek in friendly greeting, but he was much disturbed to find his usual mindless peck gave him a disconcerting jolt. He noticed, for example, that her skin beneath his lips was smooth and fine, that she smelled of lilacs, and that the curl that had sprung from beneath her bonnet tickled his cheek in a most enticing way. Teresa, however, was still too irritated with him to speak.

He watched in amusement as she removed her bonnet, laced on her archery gloves, and picked from a table her favorite bow and arrows. Jane already held his, waiting as she turned determinedly toward the target several yards away.

She shot an arrow, and watched in satisfaction as it hit the bull's-eye directly in the center.

"Still put out with me, I see," he said pleasantly.

"Furious," she said, quickly stringing another arrow. Her hand drew back, and the arrow soared through the air to land right next to the first. She always did best when she was taking her frustrations out on the archery field. He hoped with a grin that she never chose to take her anger out on him, especially when she held a bow in her hands.

"I take it your ride home with Mr. Wainwright didn't go well?"  
"How do you-?"

"He looked rather anxious to get you alone, Teresa," he explained. "There could only be one—well, perhaps _two_—possible reasons for that. Given that you appear unmolested, I take it he merely asked for your hand?"

His knowing smile made her flush with both embarrassment and ire. "Did I mention recently how much I despise you? Yes, he did—propose marriage, I mean. It was horrible." A third arrow joined the crowd in the center of the target.

"And when will the happy nuptials take place?" He asked, knowing he was only making matters worse, yet unable somehow to resist baiting her.

"When a certain place that ladies never mention freezes well over." She let loose a fourth arrow, then marched down to retrieve them all.

He laughed. "Oh, to have been a fly in his chaise at that moment. I suppose the question I should have asked was whether _Mr. Wainwright_ emerged from your meeting unmolested."

She rejoined him and he saw her eyes soften, a reluctant smile hovering about her lips. "Oh, it was tempting." But then anger lit her eyes once more, giving them the fiery luster of a sharply cut emerald. He couldn't decide in that moment which emotion he preferred seeing there. "Can you believe he only wanted to marry me because of my inheritance, and that he actually discussed with me my father's death?"

"No," said Jane in mock outrage.

He prepared his bow and shot his own arrow, frowning when it went to the left of the bull's eye.

"And to think, Mr. Jane, that you knew all along that he was gunning for me. You could have saved everyone deep embarrassment."

"But what would be the fun in that?" He let fly his second arrow, pleased to see it hit the mark.

"Well," Teresa continued, changing the subject to one more pleasing to her. "The evening wasn't a complete wash. I have found a far better replacement for Miss Van Pelt, even you must agree."

"Oh," he said dryly. "I admit O'Laughlin is a much better man than Wainwright will ever be. I feel rather sorry for him, however, given the controlling nature of his father." Jane certainly could empathize with that situation.

She nodded, having heard the stories herself of John O'Laughlin's manipulative nature. He had his son on a rather short leash, and his desire for him to be wed soon was well known. Until the younger O'Laughlin had taken the initiative to seek out an introduction to Miss Van Pelt, Teresa had never seen him take much interest in any of the young ladies of the ton.

"He seemed quite anxious to make Miss Van Pelt's acquaintance. That is surely a good sign, don't you think? Poor Mr. Rigsby looked completely devastated."

Jane lowered his bow, finding himself suddenly rather put out, himself. He turned to Teresa. "I wonder what it says about your dear Miss Van Pelt, that she would throw over such a fine gentleman as Mr. Rigsby merely for the prospect of a grander situation. Didn't you recently put down a certain vicar for just such shallow intentions?"

"I see no indication that Miss Van Pelt is the gold-digger you have indicated. And even if she were, what harm is there for a young woman to seek out someone above her station to ensure her future stability? It is different for men. Even if a man is a pauper, he does not have to worry about having a protector. For a lady, it is a far worse fate to find herself alone and unprotected. Perhaps someday a woman will be able to attain respectability in the same way a man might, doing what she pleases without ever having to marry."

Jane rolled his eyes. "There are plenty of respectable misses employed as governesses or lady's companions. Look to yourself as an example, Teresa. You are approaching the ripe old age of twenty-two, and still have yet to marry."

"My father would have that changed in a heartbeat these days, it seems. Besides, I have had the benefit of a wealthy father to see to my needs. But we were talking of Miss Van Pelt…"

"I have nothing against Miss Van Pelt seeking a husband. No, what galls me is how flighty and silly she seemed, flitting from the attentions of Mr. Rigsby to Mr. Wainwright, then at last to Mr. O'Laughlin, all in the space of an evening."

"She did nothing disreputable, Jane. After all, it was a gathering meant for husband hunting, given Miss Dean's current situation. You are just being a sore loser, because Miss Van Pelt dropped your Mr. Rigsby like a bad habit the moment she met Mr. O'Laughlin." Her eyes turned dreamy. "He is such a singularly handsome man, is he not?"

Jane frowned. "I hadn't noticed."

"Miss Van Pelt would be the luckiest woman alive to catch such a prize."

Jane's good humor returned, and he picked up another arrow. "He would be a well won prize indeed. I'd almost be willing to double our bet if Miss Van Pelt should succeed in landing him."

"See, even you admit my choice for her is quite sound this go round."

"I admit nothing," he replied mysteriously.

Teresa watched as he hit the bull's eye once more, then moved to the target to retrieve his arrows. Teresa followed him to make sure he didn't cheat. Jane could be a sly rascal, with no qualms about deceiving her if she wasn't paying attention. Up close, she could clearly see that only three of his arrows had come as close to the center as had hers.

"Round one goes to me," she announced triumphantly, looking up into his sea-green eyes. "Shall we go again?"

While she was awaiting his answer, Teresa suddenly noticed things she had paid little mind to before. Her gaze was caught by the way the breeze gently ruffled the lovely blonde curls above his brow—curls any girl would envy-not to mention the long eyelashes that surrounded those mischievous eyes of his. There were laugh lines at their corners, and smile lines creasing his cheeks, bespeaking his good nature. Even when she was furious with him, his smiles always managed to sneak beneath her guard and cause her to forgive him instantly, though she might feign irritation for hours afterwards.

She was often this close to him, embroiled in whispering arguments at parties. Trading witty comments at the expense of unbearable performers at certain musicales. Lying on a blanket watching a meteor shower on a summer's evening, having snuck out long past what society would have deemed appropriate with a gentleman. She had frequently stood next to him in just this way, but never had her breath caught briefly in her throat at the incredible beauty of this man, nor had her pulse quickened when his eyes suddenly darkened in recognition of her regard of him.

She stepped away from him in confusion, treading back to the table that held her equipment. Jane watched her hasty exodus while absently pulling the last of his arrows from the target. And although he refused to question their strange encounter, he wondered if he could continue to shoot arrows while his hands were faintly trembling.

He rejoined her, watching quietly as she loaded another arrow onto her bow. It went wild, soaring into the woods behind the target.

"Hey!" Came a sudden, familiar cry from that direction. The pair moved in alarm so they could see what had become of her arrow, when out of the woods emerged Mr. Bertram, leading a horse and angrily brandishing Teresa's lost projectile.

"Watch where you are shooting, you addle pated bob tails!"

Teresa gasped. "Oh, Mr. Bertram! Are you hurt?"

"Only by the grace of God am I not! This arrow landed in a tree just above my head. You piddling wretches should be banned from using anything with sharp points or jagged edges. Wait till I tell your father of this, young lady."

"I'm terribly sorry," she said, trying with difficulty to keep from laughing. It didn't help matters that Jane had turned away, and she could hear him snickering softly beside her. She elbowed him in the side as hard as she could. His laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by a groan of pain, which he covered with a cough. Bertram's furious gaze alighted on Jane, and he sauntered over and slapped the offending weapon into the younger man's hand.

"And you, Master Jane, are old enough to know better than to encourage such unladylike behavior. If your father were alive today, God rest him, he'd take the lash to you for certain. As it is, here is the horse you sent over, broken and trained as you asked. I should have Lord Virgil charge you double for the trouble he's been, and now, to have arrows flung at me in welcome…" He shook his head in consternation. "The pair of you are a bloody menace."

"My apologies, Mister Bertram," replied Jane with appropriate gravity. "Please take the horse up to my stables. And I'll be sure to include an extra bit of hazard pay with your fee."

Bertram led the horse on past them, heading up the hill toward Jane's family stables, grumbling and swearing beneath his breath. Jane and Teresa could hold back no longer, succumbing to gales of merry laughter, effectively alleviating their earlier awkwardness. When they'd calmed themselves considerably, Jane presented her with the much-maligned arrow, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Here. And try not to kill anybody, would you?"

"Then you'd best stay out of my way, hadn't you?"

She took the arrow and smiled sweetly at him, then proceeded to trounce him soundly over the course of the next two rounds.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The weather had been so fine that Miss Lisbon had no choice but to assemble a picnic. She invited Jane, of course, along with Miss Van Pelt, Miss Dean, Mr. Kimble, Mr. O'Laughlin, and her parents as chaperones, who so loved the company of young people combined with the fresh air of the countryside. Teresa knew just the spot—a grassy meadow surrounded by woods, near a patch of strawberries ripe for picking.

It was a pleasant walk to the appointed area, and servants had gone earlier with a wagon to set up the site with blankets, pillows, low tables, and a canvas gazebo to shield the ladies from the bright sunlight. The gentlemen were enlisted to carry baskets containing their picnic lunch, the women holding gaily-hued parasols, and in this fashion the small party proceeded with much merriment.

Jane arrived slightly late, however, and with him were two additional gentlemen. Teresa frowned internally at the sight of Mr. Rigsby, along with, of all people, Lord Mashburn. Jane did not seem happy either at the latter's company, which was odd, given how much he had bragged in the past of Lord Mashburn's amusing companionship.

She rose from her place on the blanketed ground to greet her new guests, painting a welcoming smile upon her face.

"Mr. Jane, how kind of you to invite Mr. Rigsby. And how are you, sir?"

Mr. Rigsby bowed over her proffered hand and blushed faintly for no understandable reason.  
"I am quite well, Miss Lisbon. Thank you for the warm welcome."

Much to her consternation, Teresa noticed Rigsby's gaze straying toward the lovely Miss Van Pelt. Jane grinned at having bested her once again at her own game.

"Lord Mashburn, you do us a great honor by joining our little party," she said with some embarrassment. "I do apologize for being remiss in thinking to invite you myself. I did not think a man of your…station would find our gathering to your refined taste."

Unlike Rigsby, Mashburn did not hesitate to take Teresa's hand, kissing her warm, bare knuckles ardently.

"Nonsense," said he, "the honor is clearly mine, to be in such charming company."

"I'm afraid I cannot take credit for inviting Lord Mashburn," Jane was saying with a frown, noticing how the man's hand lingered in Teresa's. To top it off, he offered his arm as he escorted her back to the gazebo and her other guests, leaving him and Mr. Rigsby to trail behind.

"Your father had sent a letter to me early this very morning," Mashburn explained, "and when I met with Jane for breakfast, I suggested he accompany me. So, here we are."

"Here we are indeed," said Teresa tightly, glancing back menacingly at Jane. Jane was heartened to see her disappointment stemmed more from Mashburn's presence than from Rigsby's, and he grinned slightly as he followed his two closest friends to join the others.

Introductions were renewed and everyone settled round the picnic tables as the ladies spread out their repast of cold ham and roast chicken, bread, cheese, finger sandwiches, olives, deviled eggs, meat pies, and tea cakes. A choice of cool lemonade or wine accompanied the meal, and a small fire was made to boil the water for tea. Teresa's announcement that their fruit course would later be collected themselves from the strawberry patch was met with pleased exclamations of anticipation.

"Might we play a game first?" requested Lord Mashburn. "Jane, will you deign to entertain us with your amazing mindreading skills?"

"Come now, Mash, you know I never like to be the center of attention."

The entire party laughed at that; Jane was a well-known performer, always ready with an amusing trick or funny tale.

"Very well, then, if our hostess approves, how can I refuse?"

"Oh do," chorused Miss Van Pelt and Miss Dean.

Lisbon nodded reluctantly.

Jane's eyes went round the picnickers, settling with determination on Mr. O'Laughlin. "Aw, I see that there is new blood here today, which will make my job much more challenging. Mr. O'Laughlin, are you game, sir?"

O'Laughlin raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I admit to being a little reluctant, sir. I'm sure no one would care to know what is on my mind."

"You are too modest," rejoined Jane. "I'm sure every lady present would like insight into the mind of a gentleman."

The ladies tittered with knowing laughter. Beside him, Teresa stiffened in annoyance. He was doing this to somehow cast an unfavorable light on her match for Miss Van Pelt.

"Jane—" she whispered in warning, but he ignored her.

"Very well," said O'Laughlin. "Do your worst, sir."

Teresa looked momentarily panicked. "No!" she cried without thinking. The others laughed at her horrified expression. She flushed in embarrassment. "I mean, do be kind, Jane. You wouldn't want to frighten Mr. O'Laughlin away."

"Of course not," said Jane, but Teresa knew that tone well, and she feared for O'Laughlin's peace of mind. She felt like kicking herself for having agreed to such a game, or perhaps kicking Jane.

"Now, Mr. O'Laughlin, we have been acquainted for years now, have we not?"

"Since our days together at Oxford," he concurred.

"But you would not characterize our relationship as close, would you?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid that has never been the case, much as I would have liked."

Jane nodded, then closed his eyes as if he were falling into a deep trance, sinking back into the silk covered pillows like some Arabian shaman.

"Hmmm… I am picking up an enticing bit of information about you, O'Laughlin. I believe you have formed a secret tendre for a member of our fair party."

Teresa brightened up at this, believing with all her heart that it could only be for Miss Van Pelt, but she was cautiously optimistic, for of course this was Jane talking. Also, she'd found herself to be dreadfully wrong of late.

"Oh, who is it?" asked Miss Dean excitedly, and in that moment Teresa surmised that Miss Dean was hopeful her name would be mentioned in conjunction with Mr. O'Laughlin's. She groaned internally. What a tangled romantic web she had unintentionally woven.

"Yes, do tell, Mr. Jane," encouraged Lady May.

"I see one dark of hair and darker still of eye."

Across the low table, O'Laughlin stiffened, his face going blank. Teresa looked at her friend with frank annoyance, given that he knew full well Miss Van Pelt's hair was of a vivid red. Four of the guests—including herself—had dark hair, and two alone had dark eyes. Her own eyes widened as she realized that Mr. Kimball and Lord Mashburn were the only two in their party who exactly fit that description. What was Jane up to?

"This person is fond of cards and privately shares your enjoyment of the novels of Miss Jane Austen."

"Oh," exclaimed Miss Dean in delight. "_I_ enjoy cards and novels!"

Somehow she remained oblivious to the fact that her eyes were of the palest, cornflower blue. The implication was not lost on everyone else, however, and Mr. O'Laughlin rose abruptly from his place, stalking off angrily into the trees, leaving behind a sullied picnic. Miss Dean, heartbroken at Mr. O'Laughlin's reaction, hastily rose and followed after him.

"Mr. O'Laughlin! Mr. O'Laughlin! You needn't be embarrassed by Mr. Jane's announcement! I certainly am not. In fact, I welcome it…"

The rest of the party grew silent, some appearing distinctly uncomfortable in O'Laughlin's wake, others, like Teresa and Mr. Kimball, looking pointedly angry with Jane, who had opened his eyes and reached for another leg of chicken.

"This is wonderful, Miss Lisbon, Lady May. I truly believe that roast fowl tastes best in the out of doors, don't you agree?"

His pronouncement was met with sharp disapproval.

"Perhaps we should see to those strawberries," Lady May suggested with forced brightness. Everyone jumped on the idea, Lord Virgil helping his wife to his feet, likewise Mr. Rigsby with Miss Van Pelt. Kimball stopped before Jane after the two couples had departed.

"I ought to horsewhip you, Jane," he proclaimed, his eyes ablaze with fury. "Some secrets are not yours to share, and well you know it."

"What secrets?" asked Jane innocently. "I _know_ nothing. I was merely playing a game."

"Well, I hope he calls you out for it. If he doesn't, perhaps I shall."

Jane shrugged. "O'Laughlin's reaction is what made things worse. Had he laughed it off, no one would have had a second thought."

"What you suggested is not a laughing matter. I'm sad to see you're getting more and more like your father every day," said Kimball in disgust, and, throwing down his napkin, left at a quick pace in the direction of Lord Virgil's estate.

Lord Mashburn and Teresa alone remained, both of his friends incredibly disappointed in him.

"What are you two upset about?" he asked defensively.

"Badly done, Jane," chided Mashburn seriously.

Teresa did not trust herself to speak at that moment, but when Jane saw how angry she truly was, twinges of unfamiliar guilt began to seep into his brain.

Jane sighed. "All right, I'll apologize."

"That is the very least you could do," said Mashburn. "And I'd be sure it was in public. This is the kind of thing that could ruin a man forever."

Mashburn rose, then reached down for Teresa's hand. "Miss Lisbon, would you be so kind as to show me to this famous berry patch? I do so love strawberries right off the vine."

Teresa nodded, allowing him to help her to her feet. Then, with one last cool glance at Jane, left him alone to contemplate the error of his ways.

As Jane watched them go, he tossed the half-eaten chicken on his plate, the succulent meat tasting suddenly dry in his mouth.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Eventually Jane rose to join the berry pickers, though their coldness left him at a distance, and he relaxed beneath a tree, watching while munching a handful of fruit as Mashburn fed a blushing Teresa a strawberry he'd plucked from a small plant. Mashburn laughed at her embarrassment, and Jane itched to do violence to his old friend. He was only vaguely pleased as he noted Rigsby helping Miss Van Pelt fill her small basket, talking softly and smiling when she laughed at his polite jokes. Lord Virgil and his wife sat nearby, picking their own berries, while Miss Dean wept silently alone beneath a distant tree. There was no sign of O'Laughlin.

As the servants returned to clear away the picnic later, Teresa approached Jane as he started alone toward his distant residence. She walked alongside him a moment, and Jane mentally prepared himself for the set down that was sure to come. He wasn't disappointed.

"How could you be so unfeeling toward Mr. O'Laughlin?" she began.

"And here we go," he muttered under his breath. He paused to turn to her. "I only spoke the truth," he said. "What kind of a friend would I be to Miss Van Pelt were I to allow her to be misled in such a heinous way?"

"That is not the point. You might have told me in confidence, and I would have approached Miss Van Pelt in the same way. There was no need to shame Mr. O'Laughlin in such a horrid manner. I thought you above such behavior. What I find most dismaying is how far you would go just to win a bet."

"That is what you think of me, eh? After all these years of friendship?"

"I don't see how you could deny it, for with Mr. O'Laughlin out of the way, that clears the field for Mr. Rigsby, doesn't it?"

"Mr. O'Laughlin's…_proclivities _would prove heartbreaking for Miss Van Pelt in the end, don't you see? I was doing her a service—"

"And another friend a grave _dis_service."

"I told you I would apologize and I planned to do so, but O'Laughlin had already left."

"Still, Jane, the damage is likely done. If even one of our party chooses to gossip, he might be refused entry to all the best houses. Imagine how his father will deal with him! You had no right to reveal his secret in such a thoughtless way."

Jane hung his head a little, her disapproval of him cutting him to the quick.

"It is not pleasant for me to say these things," she continued softly, resting her hand on his arm. "But as your friend, I must tell you the truth. This was beneath you Jane. I only hope you can find a way to make it right, or I'm afraid—" She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "I'm afraid I can no longer in good conscience continue our friendship."

His face paled and he felt an unmanly mist fog his eyes. "Teresa, please."

She held up her head stubbornly, even while tears gathered in the corners of her own eyes. "I'm sorry, but that is my condition on the matter. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to my remaining guests."

"Teresa," he called, shocked beyond measure at how quickly things had gone so terribly awry between them.

But she didn't reply, and walked back to help her father into the newly arrived carriage.

A/N: I leave it to waterbaby to untangle this mess. This is about as angsty as this fic will get, so please don't fear the worst. And I do hope the picnic scene was not offensive to anyone. That certainly wasn't my intention, and remember, I am attempting to write from the perspective of the sensibilities of the time.

Thanks so much for all the favorites, follows, and reviews of our story. Please don't forget to sign in. If you are only classified as a guest, I have no way of thanking you or responding to your comments.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Again, thank you to all have been reading this joint effort by Donna and myself. We appreciate the support. **

**As always, I hope you enjoy.**

**Chapter 6**

All was silent in the carriage back to Lord Virgil's estate. With so much done, and more importantly, so much said over the course of the day, each of the occupants found themselves arrested by their own thoughts.

For Teresa, Jane was the principal object of contemplation. He had seemed genuinely shocked at her anger, and genuinely distressed when she had spoken of putting an end to their friendship. Many times over the years, he had irritated her to the point of madness, but never had she threatened him with such a thing before.

Had she been too harsh in her scolding of him? Was it possible that he simply took the joke too far? She wanted desperately to be able to believe that it was so, but she knew him too well. He had known precisely what he was doing when he had made those slanderous comments against Mr O'Laughlin. It had hurt her deeply to witness it, for never in all their years of friendship had she known him to be so cruel.

Poor Mr O'Laughlin, and poor Miss Dean! Why had Jane not thought of the pain he would inflict on them before he spoke? If only he would control himself, instead of allowing himself to be carried away with his own cunning, then the character of a respectable man should not have been called into question, and the heart of a sweet young woman should not have been broken. He must learn when it was appropriate to joke and tease, and when to hold his tongue. Surely, as the closest thing to family he had, the responsibility fell to her to pull him in to line when needed, and the opinion of the rest of the group had been on her side. Yes, she had been right to reprimand him as she had.

Unfortunately, all the rational arguments in the world were not enough to cure her of the wretchedness she felt. She dearly hoped he could set things right, and not force her to follow through on her threat. The loss of her closest companion (and in such a manner!) would no doubt punish her just as cruelly as it would him.

She started as a hand closed over hers, and looked up into her father's eyes, gentle and understanding.

"You must not blame yourself for Jane's indecency, my dear."

"I cannot help it," she said. "His father never took the trouble to check him as a child, so he has become used to making such outlandish pronouncements in company, without fear of consequence. Nobody else knows him as I do. I should have prevented it, or at the very least, foreseen it."

"You are blessed with many fine qualities, Teresa, but you do not possess the power of omniscience," said her father. "And moreover, Jane is a grown man, who, despite his upbringing, should know perfectly well the virtues of decorum and self-restraint."

"You take too much upon yourself," put in Lady May with a smile. "Pray do not dwell on this any longer, Teresa. Content yourself with happier thoughts. Lord Mashburn seems to admire you very much. Think of that!"

"Indeed!" her father agreed heartily. "His attentions to you become more frequent by the day, my dear. What a great compliment to our family, and to you, especially."

Try though she might, Teresa could not quite match her father's joyful view of this matter. In many ways, Lord Mashburn would make an excellent husband, despite the rumors of his roguish ways. She was flattered by his attention, and had definitely spent a lot of time in far less pleasant company than his. Needless to say, her father would be thrilled, and she could be absolutely ensured of wealth and security her whole life long. She would not go so far as to say he was in love with her, but he certainly liked her well enough. It was a good match, and she knew many women who had married for far less.

In fact, looking at the situation logically, the only problem she could see was that she was not in love with him. But, then again, she didn't believe she had ever really been in love with anyone, and furthermore it was just a silly romantic notion a woman of her age had no business even thinking about.

She had allowed Jane to poison her against him right from the beginning, filling her head with doubts, but perhaps if she took some time to get to know him herself, away from Jane's influence, her opinion of him might change. And with Jane and herself currently not on speaking terms, the present seemed an excellent time to start.

She was quite determined. There was no reason why she couldn't love Lord Mashburn, in good time. She just had to try harder.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane kept to his home for the next few days. Since the picnic, he suspected he must be a point of much gossip in the village, and he thought he could do without the attention of the housewives and businessmen whispering to one another as he passed by. Still more, he had no desire to hear O'Laughlin being talked of by these people, or to hear what horrors O'Laughlin Sr. had unleased upon his son.

Still, he thought bracingly, there would be another source of gossip soon enough. He must simply ride out the unpleasantness for as long as it took for the subject to be exhausted, and another scandal to rock the town; in his experience, it could not be much longer now.

For those three days, he had also heard nothing of Teresa, an occurrence far more displeasing. Except for that brief stint in school and the occasional trip to London, he had never been parted from her for this long, and even on those occasions, they had kept up a steady correspondence. This time however, she was resolutely silent.

He had considered calling on her once or twice, but had lost his nerve both times. For he was unsure he would be able to bear it if she turned him away for good; at least this way there was still a small measure of hope. He must find a way to fix this terrible mess he had created, even if for no other reason than to return himself to her favour and to retain this friendship that he prized above all others.

On the fourth day, he was obliged to be away from his estate by business in town, and so set off in the morning on horseback. The Lisbon estate was not strictly on his way, but not quite far enough out of it as to arouse suspicion if he were to ride by it. And if he were to glimpse Teresa during this journey, then so much the better. If he came to her, apologetic and shamed, she must forgive him. She always had before.

As he approached the boundaries of Lord Virgil's land, voices became audible carrying on the spring breeze. One he recognised immediately as Teresa, the other, Lord Mashburn. He slipped from his steed and then behind a sturdy tree, as the pair strolled into sight, arm-in-arm.

What was she doing, wandering about the countryside with a man, unchaperoned? Lord Virgil must be desirous of this match indeed, in order to relax his own standards of propriety so dramatically. And as for Mashburn, what business did he have to look at her with such admiration, and to speak to her in such an intimate manner, as though they had been acquainted all their lives?

He watched as Mashburn plucked a wild daisy from the ground and presented it to her with a dashing smile. She accepted the flower with a slight blush of thanks, and the two walked on. They looked for all the world like two people well on the way to falling very deeply in love, and the idea awakened stirrings within Jane more powerful than he had ever experienced before.

For years, that place by her side had been reserved for himself alone, and now to see Mashburn replace him as effortlessly as blinking brought on an envy so potent it threatened to consume him. But he was at a loss to explain why this should bother him so. He had always known that this would happen one day, but why, after all this time, would these feelings of envy and sorrow begin to assail him at the idea of her marriage? Indeed, now he was faced with the almost certainty of it, he would do anything in his power to prevent it from happening at all.

It caused him pain to think he should lose her to Mashburn, or anyone else. When she became a wife, she would be lost to him forever. He would never feel again the joy she brought him with her mere presence, her laughter, her quick wit. Never again would he dance with her at a ball, beat her at cards, or drop in on her in the morning and stay all day, just because he felt like it. Without her, he would be stripped of everything that made his life worth living; he would have nobody and nothing left but to dwell on what he had lost.

He had many regrets about the picnic, but the way she'd looked at him afterwards, and the things she'd said came top of the list. He should not care one jot about being the talk of the town if she were still on his side. And so, as the pair vanished into the thicket and he swung himself back up onto the horse, he vowed to do whatever it took to get back in her good graces. He would show her that he was not the cold-hearted man she perceived him to be, would suffer through any indignity she desired. For no punishment could be worse than to have his oldest, dearest friend alive in the world and thinking ill of him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You are quiet today, Miss Lisbon," said Lord Mashburn, as they ducked under a low-hanging branch in their circle of Lord Virgil's estate. "Pray, what distresses you? Not the company, I hope."

She laughed a little. "Not at all, I assure you. I apologize if I have been distracted. My mind has been engaged elsewhere."

She cursed herself for that foolish comment. A fine way to flatter a gentleman's ego indeed, to admit to thinking of anything other than he as they walked together! At this rate, she would die an old maid and would thoroughly deserve it.

"You think of Mr Jane," said Mashburn, knowingly. "You still dwell on his words at the picnic."

She didn't bother denying it. "I confess I have had little success putting the incident out of my mind. I still cannot comprehend what possessed him to cause such pain to so many people, merely for the pleasure of highlighting his own cleverness."

"Miss Lisbon, if I may, I know Jane better than anyone else, other than yourself of course, and I am not sure he intended the situation to pan out as it did. I would never argue that his behaviour was inappropriate and most improper, but I believe it was less a calculated manoeuvre on his part, than simply allowing himself to be carried away with the joke."

"I should hope so," she agreed, fervently. "That person we witnessed at the picnic was not the man I have known all my life, and I should be well pleased never to encounter him again."

Mashburn smiled. "We both know Jane has his faults, but in essentials, he is a good man. How else could he have secured the friendship of Miss Lisbon for so many years? I do not doubt that he is right now plotting a way to make things up to you."

"With respect, sir, I think I am hardly the person he needs to be apologizing to."

"True," he agreed. "But it was plain to see the loss of your good opinion hit him harder than anything else could do."

"You give me too much credit, Lord Mashburn," she said. "I do not fool myself that my influence has affected him at all over the years."

"Do you not?" asked the gentleman. "It was your reprimand alone that caused him to confront the error of his ways, Miss Lisbon. If I were you, I should not discount that."

The conversation then turned to a more pleasant topic-the ball Lord Mashburn was planning to give at his home in a week's time.

"It is not often I find myself in such agreeable society as this," he said. "And I do believe I owe it to all my new friends and neighbours to do something that will bring them pleasure. And it would contribute to _my _happiness very greatly, if you would honour me with your hand for the first dance, Miss Lisbon."

She blushed, thinking of the last time he had applied for her hand, and how Jane had spirited her away before she had been able to answer him.

"I thank you, Lord Mashburn," she said, with a warm smile. "It would be my pleasure."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The village was a flurry of activity as Jane entered it, alive with people doing their shopping, greeting their neighbours, and sharing news. He noticed a few eyes turning his way as he dismounted from his steed again at the cobbler's but pretended he had not seen.

A bell tinkled merrily as he pushed open the door to the shop, and the proprietor, Mr. Mancini, looked up from the work boots he was stitching. A tall, well-built man with a hot temper, Jane had never much liked him, especially after seeing him under the influence of too many drinks at the tavern one night. Nevertheless, unpleasant as Mr. Mancini may be in a social environment, it could not be denied that he was accomplished at his trade.

"Mr. Jane," he said with a scowl. "What can I do for you this morning?"

"I need these repaired," Jane said, handing over a package containing his favourite pair of brown leather shoes. He had owned them now for many years; they were scuffed and worn out in places, and yet he was loath to part with them.

"Again?" said the cobbler derisively. "Would it not be simpler just to purchase a new pair?"

Jane smirked. He'd had this conversation with Teresa more times than he could count. But his amusement faded as quickly as it had come; it hurt to think of her.

"Undoubtedly," he said. "However, what I want is for you to mend _this_ pair, and kindly keep your opinions to yourself."

The cobbler frowned at him some more, but took the shoes from him with a sigh of resignation.

"Very well, Mr. Jane. Far be it from me to question your many idiosyncrasies. To think a respectable lady such as Miss Lisbon should count you as a friend astounds me."

"When I wish to have aspersions cast upon my character by an ale-soaked ruffian like yourself, Mr. Mancini, I shall ask for them," said Jane coldly, not least due to the mention of Teresa. "I'll be back this afternoon for the shoes. Good day."

As he exited the shop, a vibrant flash of red hair caught his attention across the street. Closer inspection informed him of the presence of Miss Van Pelt, and her friend Miss Dean, inspecting a bonnet on display in the window of the hatter's.

A shadow crossed Miss Dean's face as he approached, and he knew she was still heartsore and embarrassed about the events of the other day.

He bowed to them both, and they curtseyed politely back.

"Miss Van Pelt," he said. "Would you be so kind as to allow me a private word with your friend? If Miss Dean is agreeable, of course."

"Of course sir," said Miss Dean, though her expression showed plainly that she should rather do anything else but speak to him. Miss Van Pelt walked into the shop and closed the door behind her, leaving them be.

"Allow me to get straight to the point, Miss Dean," he said. "I wish to apologise for my actions at the picnic. I was callous and disrespectful to your feelings, and I regret the pain I caused you."

Whatever Miss Dean had been expecting to hear, this apparently was not it, for she seemed very taken aback, and for a full minute that she was unable to answer him.

"I appreciate your saying so, Mr. Jane," she said. "And I suppose I should also thank you for opening my eyes to the reality of my situation…if a little brutally," she said, ruefully.

"I regret that I ever opened my lips," he said, truthfully.

"I accept your apology Mr. Jane," she said. "But I feel I should point out that the true victim of your mind games was someone else entirely. My pain was as nothing compared to his."

Really, Jane thought to himself as he took his leave of Miss Dean, she would have been well within her rights to be a lot angrier with him, and had conducted herself with a grace he had seen lacking in ladies far above her station. Her aunt had taught her well.

He took up his steed again, and rode a short way out of town to the home of the O'Laughlin's. John O'Laughlin had married a young woman of a small fortune some twenty years ago. She had lived just long enough to bear him his son, before her death from consumption. The two O'Laughlin's had been living off that fortune ever since, but John O'Laughlin's taste for travelling and fine whiskey had squandered much of it over the years. Now the only hope to keep him in the style of life to which he was accustomed rested with his son marrying advantageously.

Needless to say, given the revelation at the picnic, the chances of that happening had taken a significant drop.

Jane dismounted from his horse, and knocked at the door. After a short wait, the O'Laughlin's housekeeper, Rebecca, opened it.

"I wish to see Mr. O'laughlin," he said, but the young woman shook her head.

"I am afraid Master O'Laughlin will see no one at this time."

"I must insist. I have something to say to him as a matter of urgency. It cannot wait, and if you will not take me to him, I shall go to him myself."

Rebecca looked rather frightened, but led the way through the small house to the sitting room. He crossed the threshold to find both men sitting there, the senior holding a book, which he immediately threw aside.

"You!" he bellowed, rising from his chair in anger. "Rebecca, you stupid girl, what were you thinking of, to allow this man into my house after all he has done to us? I'll have your next month's pay for this, just see if I don't!"

Rebecca shrank back in terror, and Jane understood why. John O'Laughlin seemed to radiate a fury more terrible than anything he had ever beheld before.

"Do not blame the girl, Mr. O'Laughlin," he said. "Your ire is with me."

"Indeed it is," he said, turning to Jane as Rebecca scurried from the room. "I hope you are pleased with yourself, Mr Jane. You have brought my family into disrepute. You have single-handedly expelled my son from all good society, and destroyed his chances of ever taking a wife. And for what? To bolster your own delusions of grandeur."

"My observations were correct," said Jane, coolly. "Though I confess that to give them voice was at best, a grave error in judgement, and for that I am sorry." He directed the last few words to the son, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Your words mean nothing," said John O'Laughlin. "Damage has now been done to my reputation from which there will be no recovery."

"Your reputation, sir? You seem to give that higher priority than your son's happiness."

"My son's _happiness_," he flinched at the word, "is none of your concern. You have already done quite enough in that area."

"Let us not pretend that it was my actions alone that led to these circumstances. If I had not called him out, somebody else would have. It was only a matter of time."

"A matter of time before I whipped some sense into him, you mean," said John O'Laughlin, shooting a dirty look at his son. "There are no proclivities a man could have that a few hundred lashes will not see off."

Jane did not need his heightened mental skills to see that Craig O'Laughlin would face a bleak existence from here on out, for which he could not help but feel responsible. One way or another, he needed to make this right.

"Mr. O'Laughlin," he said to the son, as the latter returned his father's angry gaze. "I would hazard a guess that this is not a comfortable environment for you at present. I own a small house a mile or two from here, and I would be very pleased to invite you to stay in it, until things blow over, if that would suit."

"No!" The father strode over to his son and stood over him like a London lawkeeper. "You will not leave this house, Craig, under such circumstances, or I shall cut you off so fast it will make your head spin! I will blot you off the family tree and I will never see you again."

Craig O'Laughlin looked from his father, to Jane, and back again, before standing up too. This was a much more impressive move in his case, as he towered over his father and looked down at him with undisguised hatred.

"Mr Jane," he said, not taking his eyes from John for a moment. "I accept your offer. I wish nothing better than to leave this place, and be free of this hell-spawn that for so long I have been forced to call family."

An hour later, a carriage had arrived and Craig O'Laughlin exited his father's house with his travelling case and hat.

"I shall send for the rest of my things tomorrow," he said. "Goodbye, father."

"I have no son," said the senior, cold and quietly. "And as for you Mr. Jane, I should be very careful whose toes you step on in future if I were you. Dirty, dishonest little worms like you always get their comeuppance in the end. Remember that."

Jane and O'Laughlin walked out the door and to the waiting carriage.

"You should find everything you need in the house," said Jane. "Is there anything else you require?"

O'Laughlin surveyed him for a moment. "I think I just need one more thing to make this arrangement complete," he said.

"And what would that be?"

A fist flying at his nose provided him with a swift and painful answer to his enquiry, knocking him to the ground. He clutched it in agony, as O'Laughlin, smiling serenely, handed his bag to the startled coachman and climbed aboard.

"Now we are even," he said, with satisfaction. "Good day, Mr. Jane."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mr. Mancini laughed in delight when Jane re-entered his shop, dishevelled, dusty and with a swollen nose. So great was his mirth, he could barely control himself long enough to hand over the mended shoes and settle the bill.

"As always, I appreciate your fine work, and wonderful service," Jane said sarcastically, snatching the package from Mancini, as the latter fell against the counter, shaking with laughter.

"A pleasure as always Mr. Jane," he said, between gasps, "And do tell whoever did that to you that their next repair is complimentary."

"Your charity knows no bounds, Mr. Mancini," said Jane, irritably, walking out the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Lord Mashburn had left for the day, Teresa tried to settle herself to some of her usual pursuits. She opened a book, but threw it aside after only two pages, started to sketch a landscape but crumpled up the sheet in frustration and threw away her cup of tea after a single sip.

Try though she might, she could not keep Jane from her mind. It was as if he had taken up residence in her head, invading her every thought.

Kristina entered the room, announcing the arrival of Miss Van Pelt. The redhead almost ran into the room after her, cheeks flushed with excitement.

"Oh Miss Lisbon," she greeted her, breathlessly. "Have you heard the news?"

"What news, Grace?" asked Teresa, in surprise.

"I have just had it from Mr. Kimball, who has it from Mr. Wagner the coachman for hire, that Mr. O'Laughlin has been turned out of his home by his father!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The whole town is talking about it! Mr. Craig O'Laughlin has quarrelled with his father and will live with him no longer. Mr. Wagner took him from the house himself and to the new living arrangement he is to have."

Teresa was glad she was already sitting; otherwise, she would surely have swooned at this news. That Jane's interference should have such terrible repercussions made her sick to the stomach. It was not enough for him to have exposed Craig O'Laughlin in front of everybody, now he had caused a rift between him and his father. Oh, how she would wring his neck when next she saw him!

"Upon my word," she said, after she had regained the use of speech again. "This is sad news indeed. Where is he to stay?"

"Mr. Wagner took him to a small house on the outskirts of town, near the brook," said Miss Van Pelt. "Apparently the man who owns it is willing to let him live there for free, which is most generous—"

"The outskirts, you say?" interrupted Teresa, perhaps a little rudely. She had lived in the area all her life, and she knew of only one house situated so, purchased several years ago by Jane after the death of his father. But surely he had not gone to the O'Laughlin's? Surely he would not be so foolhardy as to stick his nose in again? But a familiar sense of dread was rising within her, the same one she always got when realizing that she had been deceived.

She rose so suddenly, Miss Van Pelt gasped in surprise, and called for Kristina. The maid came running at the summons.

"Kristina," she said. "Tell Mr. Bertram to get my father's carriage at once. Miss Van Pelt, I beg that you would excuse me," she added remembering her guest a little too late.

"Of course. Are you all right, Miss Lisbon?"

"Yes, do not fear. I am well. I just have something that I must do."

Jane dabbed a washcloth around his face, taking care of his injured nose. Craig O'Laughlin could certainly throw a good punch, and while he could easily understand his motivation, hoped that he had now done away with at least some of his anger. He did not fancy another one anytime soon.

In addition to his throbbing nose, he also had a small gash on his arm where he had hit the ground and his new coat was now quite spoiled with dirt. It was moments like this that he sometimes wished he did have a wife to tend to his wounds, rather than having to patch himself up.

There came a knock on his bathroom door, and his manservant, Mr. LaRoche appeared.

"You have a visitor, sir."

"I am in no fit state for company," he said, grumpily, wincing as sudden pain shot through his nose.

"But sir, it is Miss Lisbon."

He turned around so fast he nearly cricked his neck. "Teresa is here?"

"Yes. She insists upon seeing you. She seems quite upset."

"Then show her in, quickly."

Perhaps she had heard of what he had done today, and had come to him to renew their friendship. On the other hand, perhaps she had also come to sever ties with him for good, but either way, he could not wait to see her.

If it had been anyone else, he would never have dreamt of receiving them in such a condition, but seeing as it was Teresa, the only thing he did to make himself more presentable was to re-button his shirt. There was no point trying to hide his injuries; she had seen him injured many times before (and inflicted quite a few of them herself.)

He reached the sitting room just before she did. She didn't bother waiting for LaRoche to announce her, but stormed in on her own.

"Tell me what I have just heard from Miss Van Pelt is wrong!" she snapped.

"At the risk of ruining your wonderfully dramatic entrance, how am I supposed to know what Miss Van Pelt has just told you, Teresa?" he said.

After four days of separation, to behold her eyes flashing with anger and the tiniest curl falling from its place was like a breath of fresh air. Never before had he been so struck by her beauty as now.

"I have not the patience for your witticisms, Jane," she said, unceremoniously sitting down on the settee opposite him. "She tells me that Mr. O'Laughlin has left his father's house, never to return."

"Then I am afraid I must disappoint you, Teresa, for she is correct. But be assured that he left of his own accord, and shall not be forced onto the streets."

"Then please, tell me that you had nothing to do with it."

"I apologise, dear friend, but I cannot do that either. For I was present when the incident occurred, and have offered Mr. O'Laughlin my second home to live in until he is able to make other arrangements."

She let out a long breath, seeming to release with it all her agitation. When she addressed him again, he was pleased to see she seemed far calmer.

"Why would you do such a thing?" she asked.

"I was trying to make things right," he said. "To repair what has been set asunder, if you will."

For the first time since she'd arrived, she looked into his eyes, and gasped with horror.

"Good Lord Jane! What has happened to you?"

In the excitement of seeing her, he had briefly forgotten his bruised nose, but now she pointed it out, the throbbing pain returned with a vengeance.

"It is of no consequence," he said, waving an airy hand. "Just a token of Mr. O'Laughlin's, shall we say_, appreciation_."

She looked at him for a long moment, perhaps pondering whether she ought to believe him or not. But then her lips began to curve up at the sides, her eyes began to sparkle, and then she was laughing, laughing as hard as he had ever known her to. How he had missed that sound. Warm affection for her spread through him as though he had just consumed a pot of hot tea.

"Oh Jane," she said, through her laughter. "Only you could go to such lengths to fix something, and then be struck for your trouble."

For the first time in four days, he truly smiled. "I am glad you take pleasure in this, Teresa. I half-expected you to be disappointed that you did not do it yourself."

"Believe me, I have certainly considered it, these few days." But then her smile faded, and she gazed at him with those deep green eyes. "I am glad you have set things right with him, and with Miss Dean as well. I am sure they appreciated the gesture."

"I am sure they did," he said. "But in the spirit of full disclosure, I must confess that their peace of mind was not my primary motivation. If you are pleased, let it be for yourself alone, for I thought only of you."

It felt strange to say out loud what he had been constantly thinking, but liberating too.

"You are toying with me, Jane," she said, with a smile.

"I most certainly am not," he countered, with perfect sincerity. "These days without your company have been most unsatisfactory." He reached for her hand. "I missed you."

To his surprise, she threaded her fingers through his own, and squeezed.

"I missed you too."

**A/N: You may have noticed my chapters have been littered with references to another of Austen's great romances "Pride and Prejudice" but this time I went one step further and used a direct quote. Nerwen Aldarion who PM'd me requesting a Jane-as-Darcy line: that one's for you. **

**If you enjoy episode tags (or just want a good oneshot to read) do yourselves a favour and read Donna's latest tag to 5x09. I would even recommend to people who have yet to see the episode (like myself.) Trust me, you'll enjoy it.**

**So that's my chapter done. Donna, over to you…**


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Waterbaby134 and I continue to be floored by your response and support of this fic! Thanks so much for all the great reviews! This chapter is on the long side, and a lot happens, but I had fun with it, so I hope you do too.

**Chapter 7**

Jane arrived fashionably late to the Mashburn ball, but for once, it wasn't by choice. In fact, he'd been anxious to see Teresa, especially since they had settled their differences and she had promised him a dance. The more he had thought about O'laughlin's plight, however, the more Jane realized that he owed the man more than just escaping his father's prison. That is what compelled him to encroach on his privacy once more.

"But you _must_ go," Jane had said to Mr. O'Laughlin in the drawing room of his borrowed home. "Your reputation demands it. Dance and make merry as if nothing were the matter."

O'laughlin stared hard at Jane, praying his new landlord would start talking sense.

"That isn't who I am anymore. No one—no _woman_ especially—could possibly take me seriously now. I may as well resign myself to the idea that I will be a shut-in the rest of my life, dependent upon the charity of others."

"I know you truly feel this way, and I am a thousand times sorry for my part in it, but you must trust me now. I know a way out of this, one that would save face and allow you to live the life you want, free of a demanding father and judgmental public."

"Are you a miracle worker now, Mr. Jane?"

Jane smiled. "Come to the ball and find out."

And so an hour later, Jane and O'laughlin had arrived at the ball. There was no avoiding the hush that greeted their arrival, nor the persistent whispers that followed, but Jane was determined to repave the way for the man whose life he had nearly ruined with a thoughtless word.

"There are Mashburn, Miss Lisbon, and Miss Van Pelt," Jane said. "Come, you are among friends here."

They joined the trio who had been talking on the sidelines of the dance floor, and Jane tried to tamp down his irritation upon seeing Teresa and Mash with their heads so close together.

"Welcome, Jane. Mr. O'laughlin, so pleased you could come."

"Thank you," said O'laughlin rather unsteadily, feeling the intent eyes of his peers upon him. "Miss Lisbon. Miss Van Pelt," he said with a formal bow. The ladies curtsied, and Jane smiled into Teresa's wide eyes. He could tell she could scarcely believe he had managed to get O'laughlin out of the house, let alone to a ball.

Jane elbowed O'laughlin meaningfully. The young man's back straightened. "Ahem. Miss Van Pelt. Would you do me the honor of this dance?"

Teresa gave her a nod of encouragement.

"Why, yes, Mr. O'laughlin," she replied kindly. "I would."

"Excuse me," Jane said. "I am promised elsewhere."

"But, Jane—" she began, following him with her gaze as he disappeared into the crowd. A few moments later, and he reappeared on the dance floor, escorting a dark-haired beauty with a reptilian smile.

"Who is that lovely creature with Jane?" asked Mashburn, entranced. He wondered how the lady had arrived without his notice. His secretary had been instructed to invite every reputable family in the county, but Mashburn had had no idea he would be opening his doors to such beauty...

"That is Mrs. Erica Flynn," Teresa said tightly.

Mashburn's attention immediately returned to Miss Lisbon. In their short acquaintance, he had only heard such cool tones from her regarding Jane's recent misstep. Mashburn's interest was piqued even further.

"Do I detect a note of disapproval where Mrs. Flynn is concerned?" he asked dryly.

"Perhaps," she said simply. Then, it was as if she couldn't help herself. "I despise her, and Jane knows it."

Mashburn would have laughed aloud had she not seemed so serious. "I do love your candor, Miss Lisbon. And how could such a bewitching woman invite such disdain? It must be something quite…horrible. Do tell."

Teresa looked up at Mashburn, noting the amusement in his eyes. She smiled abashedly.

"I apologize for my uncharitable attitude, my lord. It's just that…well, Jane had a dalliance with her once, soon after her husband had died under rather…suspicious circumstances. It came to naught, but she is the kind of woman who flirts outrageously with the gentlemen—even before she became a widow—meanwhile acting quite catty with the ladies. She inherited a fortune from her late husband, and ever since he died she has thrown herself at every man in society- married, engaged or otherwise, it matters not to her. As a result, she has become the subject of much ridicule in feminine circles."

"Even by the kind-hearted Miss Lisbon?" he asked.

"Especially by me, I'm afraid. I am ashamed to say that I lost my temper with her when she threw over Jane quite callously when she'd had done with him."

"Broke his heart, did she?"

"No. On the contrary; he forgave her completely. He told me he'd known what she was when he fell in with her, and now had no ill feelings toward her at all. Indeed, every man she meets is disgustingly smitten by her. I really can't fathom it."

She saw that Lord Mashburn was regarding Mrs. Flynn with much the same expression she'd seen on every other man in her presence.

"Oh, pardon me, Miss Lisbon, but I certainly can see the attraction. But I must say, your jealousy where Jane is concerned is quite becoming."

"What?" she said.

"Now, Miss Lisbon, you don't have to hold back your true feelings around me. I see the way you look at Jane, quite proprietarily, like his attentions belong solely to you."

"I do not," she gasped.

"At the risk of arguing with a beautiful woman, I must disagree. But that is how it should be, given that he obviously has similar feelings toward you."

She was taken aback by his pronouncement, not because she hadn't heard such comments before—from her female friends and her father, of course. But never from an eligible man in whom Teresa herself had found a blossoming interest. It occurred to her at that moment that perhaps her abiding, close friendship with Jane was the reason she remained unattached. Other gentlemen might be put off by it.

"I wonder that you two have never married," Mashburn continued, his eyes still on Jane and Miss Flynn.

"I will tell you, Lord Mashburn, what I've told others who have voiced your same concern. Marrying Patrick Jane would be like marrying my own brother."

"Hmmm," replied Mashburn noncommittally, but he didn't argue further, and Teresa was left to wonder at his words, how coming from such a strong, self-assured personality his opinion seemed to carry more weight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the dance floor, waltzing with Mrs. Flynn, Jane found it difficult not to keep one eye on Teresa, who remained stationed annoyingly at Mashburn's side. But he must keep his eye firmly on the prize, which was presenting a proposition to his current partner.

"I was surprised you asked me to dance, Patrick," Mrs. Flynn said with a familiarity borne of their long ago tryst. "You made it very clear you were no longer interested in my company."

"Did I ever say that? Of course I didn't. I merely felt our intimate association had concluded, so I saw no need to continue our…social connection."

"I hurt you," she said with false sympathy.

"You didn't, madam, I assure you. But I do see a remedy in solving your recent dilemma."

He felt her back stiffen beneath his hand. "I have no dilemmas."

He smiled. "Come now, Erica. You have burned enough bridges in polite society to realize that you are no longer invited into the drawing rooms of the upper crust. Since your dear husband's passing, you have lost much of the respectability you gained when you married him. True, you still have his money, but you have squandered the prestige that went along with it."

"You insult me sir," she said angrily, her eyes narrowing to black, snake-like slits.

"But it is the truth. How would it feel to regain entre into the homes of those old biddies whom have shut you out?"

"I don't wish to marry again," she said, understanding his meaning. "Husbands have a keen way of controlling and limiting one's actions and associations."

"Yes, that is a sad byproduct of marriage," Jane said in amusement. His wry tone had coaxed a genuine smile from her.

"One thing I always adored about you, Patrick, is your refreshing honesty."

"The feeling is mutual, Mrs. Flynn. Now, suppose I had a friend who is well-loved and accepted by everyone in the ton, but who is not, as they say, a _marrying man_. At least not until circumstances have dictated that he marry sooner rather than later."

"Aw, you mean Mr. O'laughlin. I've heard the rumors, and was saddened to hear also that he was cast out of his home by that wretched father of his."

"Yes, well. His father has never been admired, but his position has earned a grudging respect. You've met his son?"

"Yes, a charming man, quite handsome too. Wonderful taste in clothing. A shame he will likely be cut off."

"Not if he marries well," Jane suggested. He could almost see the wheels turning within that sharp mind of hers. "Consider it, Erica. He would welcome the shield marriage to you would offer against nasty rumors, while he would lend you new respectability. And I'm certain he wouldn't limit your discreet _associations_, if you, in return, would not limit _his_."

Her eyes strayed to Mr. O'laughlin and Miss Van Pelt, dancing gracefully together as the waltz began to wind down to its conclusion.

"You give a lady much to ponder, Patrick," she said as the orchestra finished the dance with a flourish of violins. She curtsied as he bowed, and then he surprised her by reaching for her hand.

"Please do not tarry in your decision," he murmured, squeezing her hand. "Time is not on Mr. O'laughlin's side."

She nodded, and gave him a radiant smile that would have overwhelmed most men, but Jane merely inclined his head and released her hand.

From her place by Lord Mashburn and Miss Van Pelt, Teresa fumed to herself while she painted on a pleasant smile. Imagine, choosing Erica Flynn over her as a dance partner. It boggled the mind. Jane approached her at last, and he was surprised to find her reception rather cool once more.

"I believe you promised me a dance, Miss Lisbon," he said, finding her immune to his charming grin. When she pretended not to hear him, he looked at his other friend.

"Eww," he said, shivering dramatically. "Chilly in here."

Mashburn smiled. "Miss Lisbon was taken aback that you shared a dance with Mrs. Flynn."

"Oh?" he replied, raising an eyebrow with sudden interest.

Teresa flushed, and glared angrily at Mashburn. "I told you that in confidence, sir."

"We are all friends here, are we not?" he said, and Van Pelt smiled at the strange dynamic she was witnessing. Two men were interested in the spirited Miss Lisbon, and she looked very close to thrashing both of them. She would never understand the inner workings of high society.

"Suppose you dance with me, Miss Lisbon, and you can step on my feet or kick me in the shins under cover of your charming gown."

"Well, when you put it in that way, I would dearly love to dance," she said sweetly.

Jane chuckled, then took her hand and led her onto the floor, while Mr. Rigsby had finally mustered the courage to beg a dance of Miss Van Pelt. Jane allowed himself to feel a moment of triumph before facing the wrath of Miss Lisbon.

"I cannot believe you were dancing with that—that—_black widow_," Teresa said under her breath. Jane's hand settled comfortably on her lower back, holding her gloved hand in his. He pulled her in closer as the strains of the waltz carried their feet lightly over the floor, finding that despite her anger, or perhaps because of it, he found great pleasure in looking down into her lovely elfin features.

"There was never proof that Lord Flynn died of anything other than natural causes," he said lightly, though he himself still had his suspicions. Still, had Erica Flynn really killed her husband, it was only because he'd been a controlling bastard whom it was said was prone to be physically abusive.

"But that is neither here nor there. Is Mash right? Are you perhaps…jealous?"

"Of that harlot? I think not. But you still haven't explained why you were dancing with her to begin with."

"I don't recall your being in charge of my dance partners, Miss Lisbon. I had some personal business to discuss with Mrs. Flynn, which doesn't concern you in the least."

"Hmph," she said, and he felt her tiny healed slipper "accidentally" press into his instep. He barked in pain, but his eyes crinkled merrily at Teresa, his beloved little spitfire.

_Beloved?_

He found himself gathering her even closer than usual, and watched, bemused, as her green eyes sparked, then grew wide with surprise.

"There, there, Teresa," he said, feeling his heart quicken for no apparent reason. "You have nothing to worry about. You are the only lady whose good favor I wish to secure."

"If that were so, I would think you would try a bit harder then," she said, her pert nose lifting in disdain. From nowhere came the overpowering urge to kiss each faint freckle there that no amount of Kristina's lemon mixture could ever fade. His light eyes darkened, and he found he was focused suddenly on her sweetly curved lips.

"Jane," she breathed, and for a moment lost her train of thought in the unexpected way that he was looking at her.

"I uh, just wanted to point out how kind it was to bring Mr. O'laughlin with you, under the umbrella of your good name."

Jane nodded in appreciation of her notice, trying to put together his own garbled thoughts. "He is too good a man to be rotting at home while the gossips have their way."

"Yes," she agreed.

And suddenly it was as if they no longer knew how to carry on a conversation with one another. Their throats grew tight, their mouths dry, their hands perspired beneath white dancing gloves. And yet they held fast to each other and mindlessly moved their feet to the lovely music of Mashburn's elaborate orchestra.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning Jane rode his trusty horse, Citroen down the road that led from his estate to the Lisbons'. It had rained in the early morning hours, the hard drops falling just as he had arrived home from Mashburn's ball. He could think of little else but his unnerving reaction to Teresa's jealousy, not to mention the unusual excitement he'd felt upon holding her in his arms, so that after a night of tossing and turning amidst the relentless pounding of the rain, he'f finally given in to his overwhelming desire to see her. He had to know that the feelings he had felt developing over the past few weeks were real, that they wouldn't melt away with the morning mist. He also found himself oddly anxious for her feelings as well.

Halfway to her home, he was not surprised to find the road had flooded in the night, for its proximity to a flood prone stream often allowed the road to become impassable by some lower slung carriages. He _was_ surprised, however, to find Miss Van Pelt's phaeton leaning precariously to the side, in the middle of the swollen stream, victim of a wheel that had slipped from its axis.

She was looking from her horse to the wheel and back again, no doubt wondering if she could unhitch her horse from her small carriage and climb onto the creature's back.

"Ahoy there," he called from dry land. "It would appear you've had a minor mishap."

"Oh!" she cried, turning in her seat at his familiar voice. "Mr. Jane! I'm so glad to see you there!"

"I can well imagine," he said with a grin. "Were you thinking of swimming across or turning your phaeton into a raft?"

She laughed musically, and he could see why Teresa had taken the girl under her wing. With her vivid red hair peeping from beneath her bonnet, she looked like a dew-kissed rose.

"I hadn't quite decided what I might do," she replied shyly. "I was praying for a handsome prince to ride up and carry me across on his trusty steed." She blushed at her romantic notion.

Jane grinned. "Sorry, I'm afraid old Citroen here is not the least bit trustworthy, and I have never once been mistaken for a prince. If I see either on my way to Miss Lisbon's I'll send them in your direction."

With that, he rode onto the flooded road, urging his mount forward into the cold water which rose just below his stirrups. On the opposite side, he turned back to Miss Van Pelt and doffed his hat, while she sat agog at the possibility that he might actually be leaving her in that predicament.

"But—but," she stuttered helplessly. Jane chuckled and returned his horse to her side.

"I was only teasing, Miss Van Pelt. And though I might not be a prince, since it is for you, I'll pretend, but just this once, mind." He winked at her and reached his arms down toward her.

"Miss Lisbon was certainly right about you, Mr. Jane. You are indeed a flummoxing scoundrel."

"She said that, did she?"

"Yes. She has an infinite number of opinions where you are concerned."

Jane's lips quirked, and the thought of Teresa warmed his heart. "I'll wager she does."

He indicated that Miss Van Pelt should stand and wrap her arms around his neck, while he lifted her beneath her bottom to swing her easily before him, so that she was sitting sideways upon old Citroen. She was blushing furiously at his masculine handling of her person, this being the most intimate physical contact she had ever had with a man outside a ballroom.

"Are you quite all right, Miss Van Pelt?"  
"Yes," came her breathless reply.

Jane directed Citroen to Miss Van Pelt's horse, reaching down to grab its reins in an attempt to lead it out of the water. Without a passenger, the nag was able to pull the riderless, limping carriage out of the water and up to the dry road. Jane hopped down and unhitched the lady's horse from the disabled phaeton, then tied its reins to his own saddle. He climbed back onto Citroen and they headed on down the road, the extra animal in tow.

"I'll send someone to repair and return your phaeton to you later," he told her.

"Oh thank you, Mr. Jane. You are indeed a lifesaver, and I shall never believe another uncomplimentary thing Miss Lisbon says of you."

Jane smiled. "You'd do well to listen to her, Miss Van Pelt. Miss Lisbon is quite wise—well, usually—in her appraisals of people. Now, I take it you were on your way to visit the lady when you decided to stop in the middle of a flood."

He watched as her delicate profile flushed in renewed embarrassment. "Yes, Mr. Jane. We'd made a prior appointment for morning tea. Were you off to call on her as well?"

"Yes, coincidentally, but we had no plans. I was going to drop in unannounced. I have found that that is the very best way to annoy her."

Miss Van Pelt laughed in that pleasant way she had. "I take it back. You are indeed as terrible as she says."

Jane looked at the lovely Miss Van Pelt, bestowing upon her his most radiant smile. "You should laugh more often, Miss Van Pelt. It is quite becoming."

Her breath caught at the softness of his blue-green gaze, at the kindness of his smile, at the handsomeness of his features. She was so overwhelmed at her sudden emotional reaction to the man, that she feared she might swoon and fall off the horse. Jane noticed right away how she had swayed, and tightened his arm about her waist.

"Steady there, Miss Van Pelt. I wouldn't want you to plummet from my horse. I would never be able to redeem myself with Miss Lisbon."

She couldn't help but lean closer to his chest as he held her, and found her senses suffused with the manly scents of sandalwood and fine leather. She couldn't find the words to speak in that moment, so she rode the rest of the way to Miss Lisbon's in contented silence, while Jane made humorous and pleasant comments about their journey.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa was in the garden, scowling over the damage the storm had done to her rosebushes. Wearing a wide-brimmed bonnet and gardening gloves, she clipped with large scissors at the wilted flowers. She was expecting Miss Van Pelt at any moment, and had planned to have tea with her in the garden to propose a few more gentlemen as marriageable possibilities. But now, with the puddles and the sad state of the flowers, she was disappointed that she was going to have to nix that idea.

She was removing her gloves when her eyes beheld an incredible sight. Jane's familiar grey mare-so grey as to be nearly blue—trotted into view, but not only did it carry its familiar passenger, Mr. Jane, but also a very disheveled looking Miss Van Pelt. Jane caught sight of Teresa and grinned, while the lady before him blushed and cast down her eyes in acute embarrassment.

"Miss Lisbon," he called. "I was just on my way to call on you, when who should I find attempting an imitation of a damsel in distress but the lovely Miss Van Pelt."

"Mr. Jane," objected Miss Van Pelt to his teasing remarks.

Jane dismounted and then reached up for Miss Van Pelt. He lowered her by the waist to the stone path, and she trembled a little at the strong, warm grip she could feel even beneath his riding gloves.

"Thank you again, Mr. Jane. I don't know what I would have done had you not happened by."

"I'm sure a prince must have been very close behind," he said, with a wink.

Teresa, speechless until that point, looked in awe from one of her friends to the other. Removing his hat, Jane caught her eye and his smile widened at her unusual silence.

"Trying to catch flies, Miss Lisbon?" he inquired of her slack jaw. She closed her mouth and turned to Miss Van Pelt.

"Well. I uh, trust you are unharmed, Miss Van Pelt," said she at last.

"Quite, thanks to Mr. Jane." The young lady's attention was captured by how his golden curls shone in the late morning sunlight.

"Well, why don't you come inside and tell me the tale of your adventure," suggested Teresa. "I'm sure you must be dying for some tea."

"Will you be joining us, Mr. Jane?" asked Miss Van Pelt hopefully.

Jane's eyes never left Teresa's. "I wouldn't want to intrude on feminine gossip," he hedged. "I'll just see to your phaeton, Miss Van Pelt, and call on _you_ this afternoon, Miss Lisbon, if that would suit?"

"That would be fine, Mr. Jane. I look forward to it."

"As do I," he said, an expression there that unaccountably made her pulse race.

Miss Van Pelt walked boldly back to where Jane stood by the horses. "Truly sir, I owe you my life," she said dramatically. "You will ever be my hero for what you did today."

Teresa rolled her eyes. "Please, Grace, you must stop this. His head will become so large he won't be able to fit through the door."

Jane chuckled. "It was nothing that any other gentleman would have done, Miss Van Pelt." He took her hand, however, and brought it to his lips. "Your servant," he said, but he was focused on Teresa's face when he said it.

He bowed to both ladies, sweeping his hat in a chivalrous gesture that had Teresa shaking her head at him in amusement, and Van Pelt nearly in a swoon.

_Always the showman,_ Teresa thought affectionately.

"Good morning, ladies."

"Good morning, Mr. Jane" they chorused, one with sincerity, one with bemusement.

With that, he mounted old Citroen and turned back toward the road from whence he had come.

Miss Van Pelt went to stand beside her friend, her gaze still on the retreating horseman.

"Isn't he dashing," exclaimed Miss Van Pelt adoringly.

"Stop, I beg of you," said Teresa wryly, but her eyes too remained on the empty road long after Jane had disappeared.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane arrived back at Miss Lisbon's just in time for late afternoon tea, which was no surprise to Teresa, since he dearly loved Kristina's finger sandwiches and shortbread biscuits. He left his hat and gloves with the butler, and continued on alone to the library, where Teresa was perusing a tome on gardening. She set down her book at his arrival, but did not get up; they were long past such formalities when they were alone.

"What? You left your shining armor at home?" she asked wryly by way of greeting.

Jane chuckled. "Miss Van Pelt was adorable to sing my praises so…ardently."

He lowered himself heavily onto the settee beside her and picked up a sandwich without bothering with a plate.

"If I have to hear once more the story of your heroism, I think I might wretch."

"Now, Teresa," he tsked. "No need for jealousy. I would have done the same for you had you been in a similar predicament."

"Ha. By the time anyone found me, I would have already jumped in the water and unhitched the horse myself, as you well know."

"True," he relented. "Your independence is just one of the many things I love about you, my dear Teresa, though I'm certain it would be most emasculating to less confident gentleman dying to be your savior."

His words had been teasing, but both of them had been taken by surprise by his casual use of the word, _love_. Certainly he had used the word before when speaking of her, but always it had held a tone of brotherly affection. For some reason, it seemed to hold more meaning today. With both of them. Jane covered their unusual awkwardness by pouring the tea.

"But tell me, how is the matchmaking business going on your end," he asked, in an attempt to bring things back to a more normal tenor. He offered her a cup—no milk, two lumps—which she accepted gratefully.

"I'm afraid today was a total loss," she admitted. "When I suggested the merits of such gentlemen as Mr. Ardilles or Mr. Kirkland, Miss Van Pelt always managed to steer the conversation back to _your_ questionable merits. Even Mr. Kimball held no sway with her, despite my comments on his muscular frame and how well-read he is. _Doesn't Mr. Jane look fine in his riding habit, _she would counter_. Doesn't Mr. Jane have lovely taste in horses? _Blah._"_

Jane laughed at her uncomplimentary imitation of the girl she had once been so happy to call friend.

"I pointed out that Citroen meant _lemon_ for a reason, and that I had always questioned your attachment to that sour tempered old nag."

"Hey, leave poor Citroen out of this. She doesn't merit your disparaging remarks. She has been a lifelong and loyal friend, and has seen me safely out of many a scrape."

"I'll remember that next time you are cussing her when she nips your hand for no reason."

Jane brought his own tea to his lips, his eyes sparkling at their old argument.

"Well, you needn't fear Miss Van Pelt's temporary infatuation with me. She'll be back to proclaiming Mr. Rigsby's merits in no time. You might as well concede our wager right now."

"Not in a million years. But I believe our bet will be null and void should she choose a man that neither of us would have picked for her," she said, eyeing him with acute annoyance.

"Now Teresa, how can I be blamed for Miss Van Pelt's sudden interest? Wouldn't _I _be suitable husband material? I'm considered quite the catch by many society mamas."

She snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "If you are such a prize, why have you not succumbed to their adoration and married by now?"

Jane's eyes cast down a moment, and a bold reply formed on his tongue. For her part, Teresa held her breath, waiting anxiously for his answer.

"I think you know the answer to that," he said slowly, bravely meeting her gaze.

Teresa froze, as a wayward thought took hold of her mind, sending her world tilting violently on its axis. She had the sudden, terrifying premonition that things would never be the same again.

"I have no idea what you mean," she lied, setting down her cup and saucer and reaching for a biscuit.

Jane's eyes widened at what he had seen in hers, how her words had belied her expression, and he held his tea in mid-sip as he looked at her with similar feelings of epiphany. His hand shook slightly as he brought the cup the rest of the way to his mouth, and they continued their tea in heavy, unaccustomed silence.

A/N: You might have noticed that I have made some of the show's villains a little more sympathetic. I guess it comes from Austen's influence, given that there weren't any truly evil characters in her books—they were mainly annoying or misunderstood or simply made bad decisions (correct me if I'm wrong, for I haven't read every one). Also, I'm a bit of a Pollyanna, so there :).

I'm so excited for what is coming up in waterbaby's next chapter! I can't wait to hear what you think.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry about the delay in the update. I work in the retail sector, and as you can imagine, this is a busy time of year for us. But I do hope you like what I came up with as always.**

**Chapter 8**

Jane was grateful beyond measure of the tea in his hand, as it provided him with a means to keep his hands busy, and his eyes averted from Teresa. Unfortunately, it did little to help him to resist the siren call of those bewitching eyes. Why, after all their years of friendship, did he now find them so enchanting?

It was a great comfort to both of them when Lord Virgil entered the room. Jane hastily set down his cup and saucer and rose to greet him.

"Dear boy," said Lord Virgil, grasping Jane's hand firmly in a fatherly fashion. "I am glad to see you have patched things up with my daughter. She has been in high dudgeon ever since your disagreement."

"Believe me sir," he said, "the separation was most cruelly felt on my side as well."

And that, he thought, was what the well-educated man would call an understatement.

"I have been telling you two for years that you are both too stubborn for your own good," said Lord Virgil, eyes twinkling affectionately at them both. "One of these days, these spats of yours will be your undoing."

"Lord Virgil, your daughter may frequently drive me to distraction, but her companionship is worth more to me than anything else," said Jane. "As long as this holds true, I see no reason why we should not be able to settle any argument that should arise between us."

He chanced a look over at Teresa. Her expression had softened, and she even managed a little smile.

"I am pleased to hear it," said Lord Virgil. "But you must resign yourself to sharing her in future, Jane, for I daresay it will not be long before she is made another offer of marriage."

A curious sensation was awakened in Jane at these words. If he had to describe it, he would have said that it felt as though his insides were slowly turning to ice, stage by stage. The world as he knew it came to a screeching halt as the unexpected bombshell seemed to reverberate around the room. With difficulty, and drawing on self-calming skills learned in the back streets of London, he managed to keep his countenance.

"Is that so?" he asked, as though the subject held only mild interest for him. "I suppose a lot more can change in a few days than I would have expected. And just who is this besotted suitor of yours, my lady?" he asked Teresa, knowing the answer perfectly well, but almost daring her to admit it.

She averted her eyes from him in embarrassment, so her father jovially stepped in.

"Lord Mashburn has been a visitor here every day in your absence Jane," he said, with an air of great satisfaction. "I'm sure you noticed how he admired Teresa from the very day they met, and I am pleased to report that his attachment only grows stronger as time goes on. He even reminds me of myself a little, when I was courting Teresa's mother." He smiled fondly at his daughter, and squeezed her hand. "I expect him to come and ask for my blessing any day."

"And a joyous event that would be," said Jane, flatly, making it quite clear that he could enjoy nothing less. "But I must ask, how do _you_ feel about this happy prospect Teresa?"

"I see no likelihood that Lord Mashburn is to make me an offer of any kind," she said, and Jane breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"You are determined to be modest, my dear," said Lord Virgil. "You are so like your mother in that respect that I cannot fault you for it. But your opinion of yourself does you a disservice. Why should Lord Mashburn or any other man not wish to marry you? Your beauty and intelligence, as well as your good standing in society could only make you the best kind of wife."

"You flatter me, father," she said, clasping his hand in her own. "But I fear you let fatherly affection cloud your judgement."

"Then let us consult a third party on this matter," he said. "What say you, Mr Jane? Would Teresa not make a most agreeable partner for your friend?"

Jane was silent a long time; so long in fact that Teresa rather thought he did not intend to answer at all. But when he did, he fixed her with a gaze so deep, as to make her feel he was looking inside her very soul. It was if her father were no longer present, as though she and Jane were the only creatures in the world, let alone the room.

"Fortunate indeed will be the man who secures your daughter's hand in marriage," he said, addressing the gentleman, but never taking his eyes from the lady. "However, I highly doubt if a man exists on this earth who is worthy of her."

"And who are you to make that assessment?" she asked him, irritably. "The final decision of who I wed, if I am to do so at all, rests with me alone. I should box your ears Jane, if ever you were impertinent enough to try and tell me what to do."

He smiled at her sudden ferocity, and the sight of Lord Virgil rolling his eyes to the heavens as he scolded his daughter.

"You would do well to check that temper of yours, my child," said Lord Virgil reproachfully. "Respectable men do not want wives who are incapable of holding their tongue. Do you not agree, Jane?"

"Forgive me Lord Virgil, but I am afraid I do not," he answered the older gentleman, to his chagrin, and Teresa's delight. "I know_ I _should not care for a wife without opinion or beliefs, and as such, have long regarded Teresa's wit and vivacity as some of her very best qualities."

And indeed, there had been times over the years when dealing with Teresa felt like the equivalent of beating his head repeatedly against a brick wall, but he would not seek to change one single thing about her, and any man who disagreed with that would make no fit sort of husband for her at all.

"I wonder Lord Virgil," he went on, "why you seem so determined to quash the very attributes that make your daughter unique."

A shadow crossed the lord's face at these words. "I assure you, Jane, I should like nothing better than to see Teresa marry a man who could embrace her exactly as she is, but there comes a time when a father must put aside his idealistic notions and be realistic, in favour of his child's welfare."

At that moment, Kristina the maid tapped lightly on the door.

"The post has just arrived, my Lord," she said.

"Very good Kristina, I shall come directly." Turning back to Jane, he then added, "I appreciate your concern Mr. Jane, but I think I know what is best for my daughter. Good day." The door swung shut behind him and Jane and Teresa were once again left alone. Unable to bear the tense atmosphere a moment longer, he abandoned what was left of his tea, and stood too.

"I must go," he said. "I have urgent business to attend to in town."

"So soon?" asked Teresa, sounding disappointed. "But you only just arrived."

"I apologize for inconveniencing you," he said. "But it is an important matter which I forgot, and cannot put off a moment longer."

Teresa's interest was piqued at this statement. It was not so out of character for Jane to do a great many odd things seemingly on a whim, but never had she known him to forget a prior engagement before, or indeed to forget anything. He had surely invented this urgent business as an excuse to get away from her.

It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him to stay; for she had missed him so much this week that it felt cruel to be robbed of his company again so soon, and if that didn't work, she would simply demand to know what had vexed him so. But, ever the perfect lady, she knew she could do neither of those things, and so got up from her chair to show him out. They passed through the rooms and hallway in silence until he stood on the threshold just outside the front door.

"You did not answer my question before," he said, taking her by surprise as he donned his coat and hat. "How _do_ you feel about marrying Lord Mashburn? For I got the feeling that your enthusiasm for the idea does not equal that of your father's."

"He is a good man," she said, after a lengthy pause. "Any woman would be lucky to have him for a husband."

"Do not attempt to palm me off with generalisations, Teresa," he said, impatiently. "I wish to know of your feelings, and not of anyone else's."

She sighed. "I like him very much," she conceded. "And in the event that he did wish to marry me, I cannot think of any good reason why I should refuse him."

Could she not? Jane could think of several, chief among them the fact that she had never had much time for philanderers like Mashburn. Why should she suddenly change her mind now?

"Even at the expense of your own happiness?" he asked. "Even if he does not understand you as he should?"

"You must not judge the relationship I have with Lord Mashburn against my relationship with you," she said. "I could never expect to be as comfortable with him as I am with you. We have known each other a very long time, Jane."

"Indeed we have, dear friend," he said. "Long enough for me to know that you deserve far better than to marry out of obligation or duty. Spare me the pain of seeing you waste away in an unhappy marriage. It would surely be your destruction."

"You exaggerate. Many women have made less-than-blissful alliances, and lived to tell the tale," she said, wryly. "Why should I be any different?"

"You _are_ different," he said, simply. "I have known it was so ever since that first day we met, when I found you splashing about in a puddle, with your hair and your gown streaked with mud."

She smiled in reminiscence of the memory of a spring day after a rainstorm, when she'd managed to give her governess the slip and made it her personal mission to jump in each and every puddle she could find. It was in one such puddle that she had first encountered the boy with the golden curls, who turned out to be Patrick Jane.

"I still remember the first thing you ever said to me," he said, with a small chuckle. Affecting a high-pitched, falsetto voice that she was certain she had never had as a child, he recited: "What do you do here? Leave at once or I shall have you whipped."

They both dissolved into easy laughter at this point, both longing for the simplicity of their childhood, when their only cares had been each other, and what piece of mischief they were going to commit next. Before the stormy travails of courtship and society, and the uncertainty of what the future might hold, the hardest decision they'd had to face had been whether they should steal some apples or some strawberries from the neighbouring land for their tea. Even then, Jane had been skilled at getting his hands on things that did not belong to him.

A great many of her fondest childhood memories were centred around him. Like how he used to come and throw stones at her window in the early morning, and she would climb down the vine to join him and they'd lose themselves in her father's fields for the rest of the day. The time he took her up to see the view from Box Hill. The time they were caught in the summer storm and ran hand-in-hand back to her house trying to avoid the raindrops.

She missed those times.

"A pity that I did not take my own advice," she said casting her eyes downwards now, as his chuckles began to subside. "My life would have been far simpler without you in it."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But mine would have been far duller."

It was only a when a feather-light pressure was applied to her skin, that she looked up. Jane was tilting her chin upwards with the very tips of his fingers, as gently as though she were something very precious indeed. The rare contact of his bare skin against hers sent a surge of something most unusual through her body like a lightning strike. She was suddenly gripped by a great desire just to take that hand and entwine it with her own, and to bury herself in those arms that must surely be just as gentle, and have them never let her go.

As though frozen in time she gazed into those eyes she knew so well. As children, they'd had many a staring contest but never had they caused her heart to pound as it did now.

Jane dared not to move, or even breathe as they stood as still as if they were posing for a portrait. To speak, to stir, would break the magical spell, and have her flinching from his touch. She felt silky smooth, like satin, but still warm with life. Involuntarily, he felt his fingers begin to wander, to tenderly trace her jawline, her cheekbones, practically begging to free her ebony hair from its tight bun and let it fall about her shoulders, the way she only let it do when she was at home.

"Jane," she whispered. To hear his own name fall from those perfect lips in such a manner tested his self-control to its limit. "What are you doing?"

The very question. What _was_ he doing? What did he expect to gain from this interlude?

"Do you wish me to stop?" he asked, in hushed tones, praying that the answer would be no.

"We must," she said, but made no attempt to step away from him, and on the contrary, closed her eyes at his touch. His eyes raked longingly over her face. Would it be so wrong to take her into his arms, and to kiss her, just once? Just so when she did eventually marry another man, he would not have to wonder what they could have been like.

As though the Almighty himself were guiding it, he found himself being drawn irresistibly toward her, the small distance between them closing inch by inch. The delicate scent of violets surrounding her played havoc with his mind as he watched her abandon all resistance, and surrender herself to his will. The trouble they would be in if they were spotted served only to heighten the desire he felt to take what he now realised should have been his a long time ago.

She opened her eyes once more, and locked them to his. His fingers began to curl around the back of her neck, and her lips parted. This was the moment that would answer all his unspoken questions.

In the distance, a sudden cry of pain cleaved the air. From what Jane could decipher from the mingled curses and oaths that followed, Mr. Bertram had just received a hard kick from his own horse, Citroen. His steed had never cared for the man's brash manner when he'd been breaking her in, and as such was as likely to kick or bite him as look at him whenever they met.

"You demon animal!" the stableman shouted angrily. "As mischievous and troublesome as your master. Oh to be rid of you both for all eternity!"

And just like that, the spell was broken, as quickly and abruptly as bringing someone out of a trance state. Her eyes snapped open, and he dropped her hand. As reality returned, so did the need for manners and propriety, so he retreated a respectful distance and made a deep bow, lamenting the loss of contact.

"Good afternoon, Miss Lisbon,"

"And to you, Mr Jane."

Were he a braver man, he would have thrown caution to the winds and kissed her anyway, like every part of him was screaming for. But she had always been the brave one. The last few days had been evidence enough that he would be the one to suffer the more acute torture if it went wrong. So with the greatest reluctance, he descended the steps of the house as the front door clicked shut behind him. He found where Citroen had been tethered and quieted the irritated animal with strokes and soothing words.

"Easy girl," he cooed to her, trying not to laugh as Bertram glowered at him from the stable, clutching his leg. "While I cannot blame you for your actions, your timing was lamentable. Could you not have held off for just one minute more?"

The horse blinked at him. He sighed.

"But who am I to speak of timing?" he grumbled to himself, hoisting himself up onto her back. "I had her all to myself for all those years, and only now do I come to realize how dear she is to me, when I am on the point of losing her forever." He looked toward the house, wondering if he might glimpse Teresa waving him off from her bedroom window, as had always been their custom whenever they parted. But as his gaze hit the third window from the right, his eyes beheld nothing but the drapes fluttering slightly in the breeze.

"Your master is a dreadful fool," he said, stroking Citroen's mane. "Observant to the affairs of everyone around him, but blind to what was right in front of him. I suppose this is fate's way of seeing me reap my reward."

The horse nickered, and tossed her head impatiently. He took that for agreement.

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The next day, Friday, heralded Miss Lisbon's weekly trip to offer charity to the poor. As a woman blessed with great fortune, she had always been sensible of the importance of giving something back to the community, and so made it her business to venture out each week and do what she could for the less fortunate. Up until recently, the vicar had been her companion on these expeditions, but since the carriage incident, had found excuses not to accompany her anymore. She supposed his pride was still a little bruised, and to be honest, was glad to not have to see him. She still wasn't entirely sure that she could be fully in control of the urge to punch him the next time she set eyes on him.

The upshot of this was that she was now accompanied by Miss Van Pelt, which had made the last two visits a great deal more enjoyable as they discussed the town news, laughed and were merry as they walked between the houses. Today however, Miss Van Pelt had only one topic that she wished to discuss, coincidentally the very same topic she herself was most anxious to avoid.

"Oh Miss Lisbon!" cried the younger woman happily, swinging her wicker basket. "Look! This is the very same spot where Mr Jane gallantly rescued me from almost certain death."

"And yet, when not flooded with water it seems no more remarkable then any other stretch of road. And I feel obliged to point out, Miss Van Pelt, that the greatest danger you faced was of getting your petticoat wet. It is hardly as if Jane had to fight his way through a horde of bloodthirsty pirates in order to reach your side."

"True. But I do not doubt that he would have done so if the situation called for it," said Miss Van Pelt, stubbornly determined to defend her hero at any cost.

"If such an occasion ever does arise, will you promise to let me know?" asked Teresa.

She would be prepared pay a lot of money indeed to see him attempt such a thing. While admittedly an accomplished fencer and quite handy with a sword, Jane abhorred physical confrontation of any kind. Indeed, the more likely scenario would be she battling the brigands while he cowered behind a tree until the coast was clear. She smiled to herself. Somehow, she had always found that trait of his rather endearing, and respected his choice of winning fights with words, rather than violence. It was a skill in itself.

"Certainly I shall," said Miss Van Pelt, seriously, clearly missing Teresa's sarcasm. "And in return, Miss Lisbon, I would be much obliged if you would do something for me."

She had stopped dead, and Teresa too, paused in mid-stride. "Oh?" she asked.

"Would you consider us to be friends, Miss Lisbon?" asked the young woman, looking slightly apprehensive.

"Certainly," she replied, though privately thinking the friendship would be a lot stronger could they get through five minutes of conversation without mention of Jane.

"I know that you wish me to settle well, and I cannot thank you enough for the time you have spent in doing so. So it feels only right that I should ask this of you. I cannot forget the great service Mr Jane has rendered me, and even though I have told myself again and again that the difference in our stations will make an alliance between us highly unlikely, my heart refuses to listen."

With an almost overwhelming sense of dread, Teresa thought she could guess where this conversation was heading. But surely Miss Van Pelt could not fall in love so deeply, so fast? This was a mere schoolgirl crush. She could not be serious.

"Never has any man gone to such lengths for me before," Miss Van Pelt went on. "Particularly not one so handsome, or with such good taste and manners as Mr Jane. But I do not wish to give my heart away completely unless I am sure he feels something for me too. And so, I beg you, Miss Lisbon, will you ask him?"

"I beg your pardon?" Nothing could have surprised Teresa more than what she had just heard. This was no passing infatuation to Miss Van Pelt. She wanted to _marry_ him. She wanted to be his wife. The idea was preposterous, total insanity. She could not have picked two people in the world more ill suited for each other than Jane and Miss Van Pelt. He needed someone who could take care of him, and rein in his wilder ways, and surely a delicate young lady like Miss Van Pelt would never be up to such a task. Oh! The presumption of her, to think that such a match could be likely, or even possible.

"Oh please, Miss Lisbon," begged Miss Van Pelt, as the former stood silent, flabbergasted by the idea. "He regards your opinion higher than any other, and I know he would do anything you ask. If _you_ were to encourage him into the idea, I am sure there will be a happy outcome for everyone."

One look at her friend's hopeful face was enough to tell Teresa that this was not, as she had hoped, some elaborate prank of Jane's. Every cell in her body was screaming in protest at the idea.

"You seem surprised," said Miss Van Pelt.

"That is the polite description," said Teresa, finding her voice at last. "But Miss Van Pelt, are you sure this is the course of action you wish to take? I think you should give your situation some further thought before you rush into anything. Marriage is not an institution to be taken lightly."

"I know that. But I have only ever dreamed of meeting somebody that I could feel about so strongly, and now that I have, all I could possibly want is to start a life with him."

Teresa stepped off the road and sunk onto the grass beside it. This was all going too fast. Who would have thought that a simple bet between two friends could have caused so much trouble? Hearts had been broken, secrets revealed, friendships tested, reputations ruined, and it could all be traced back to the wager. And now, the crowning glory, of a young woman aspiring far above her station, setting herself up for a fall as spectacular as could possibly be imagined. Oh, if she could turn back the clock she would never have agreed to this foolish idea, and they could all have gone on exactly as they always had.

"We are friends, Grace," she said after a time, when she finally found her voice again. "And it is because we are friends that I must tell you this. Jane is not the man for you. You are blinded by gratitude for the assistance he gave you, but in time, that will fade, as will your fancy for him."

But Miss Van Pelt shook her head. "I appreciate your concern," she said. "But you are mistaken. It was not just his heroics that caused me to settle on him. There is far more to my affection."

"You have been acquainted for less than a month!" cried Teresa in frustration. "What makes you think you know him even half as well as you ought? Do you know, for instance, whether he prefers whiskey to brandy? Or that he spends an afternoon every month at the orphanage, entertaining the children with magic tricks?"

Miss Van Pelt stood silent, so Teresa took the opportunity to carry on.

"Was it your home he took refuge in after his father beat him until he bled? Were you the one to sit for hours tending to his wounds, and soothing him, when he was racked by nightmares? Do you even know how he takes his tea?"

"No," said Miss Van Pelt, softly. "I do not."

"Then I rest my case. You do not know him well enough to be his wife."

"Those are the kinds of things couples learn about each other after they marry. Given a few years, I shall know him more intimately then even you."

While aware that her words had been intended as comforting, Teresa took a long, steadying breath, and then another, and then a third. But still the ire rising within her was not to be quashed. This union could never take place. Her feelings forbade it in every possible way. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more her stomach began to churn, and the more her mind was flooded with unpleasant thoughts, and the harder she had to work to keep from screaming.

"Miss Lisbon, you look pale," said Miss Van Pelt, with great concern. "Are you unwell?"

She seized on the excuse with enthusiasm. Important as her charity work may be, she needed to free herself from this situation, one where she felt trapped on all sides, powerless to stop the world from moving along in the way she most dreaded.

"Yes," she said. "I have a sudden headache. Send my apologies to the Coles."

"Shall I send for a coach to collect you?" asked her companion.

"No thank you," she said. "We are not far from my home. I shall walk."

It took a few minutes to pacify Miss Van Pelt to this scheme, what with the latter's recent adventure while travelling alone. It took some considerable finessing on Teresa's part, but eventually, Grace relented.

"Do feel better. And I beseech you, think about what I have said."

"I shall."

Truer words were never spoken, for as she finally left Miss Van Pelt, she could think of nothing else.

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Grace watched Miss Lisbon go, torn between going after her and continuing upon her own. Surely a good friend would see Miss Lisbon safely home, but the latter had seemed quite keen to be alone. The only problem now was that she too was alone, and as she lacked her friend's ingrained need for independence, she felt quite uncomfortable.

A rustling of bushes made her gasp and turn. Thinking of gypsies, wild animals and demons, she clutched her wicker basket, the only weapon she had and prepared for the attack. But the disturber of the trees turned out to be none other than Mr Rigsby, with his hat tucked under one arm, and his cane under the other.

"Miss Van Pelt!" he exclaimed, seeming quite taken aback by having happened upon her in so strange an area. "What a pleasant surprise." He hastily set his hat back on his head, and turned the brim so it sat perfectly straight. "But surely you are not wandering the woods alone?"

"Indeed I am," she said, curtseying politely. "I was with Miss Lisbon, but we got separated."

"I am sorry to hear that," he said. "Pray, do allow me to escort you to your destination," he said. "I should be very glad to know that you arrived safely."

The way he was looking at her, with such gentleness and warmth, was not equal to anything she had ever experienced. It made her feel safe, and yet brave, both at once. She wondered why she had never seen such a look in Mr Jane's eyes, and then with a pang, realized she had, every time he looked at Miss Lisbon.

At the wedding, at the picnic, at the ball, indeed any time they ever encountered each other she had seen that same brand of tenderness in his eyes, his actions, and even his words as he interacted with his lifelong friend.

She had long suspected it, but forgotten it among the excitement of her rescue and the giddiness of her juvenile crush. Jane would never love her the way she wanted him to, for he had already bestowed his heart on someone else.

She felt a sudden prickling at the corner of her eye, and blinked furiously to rid herself of the tear threatening to burst free. But she was resolved. She would not cry in front of Mr. Rigsby. The last thing she needed was for the word to get around town what an idiot she had been.

"Are you all right, Miss Van Pelt?" asked Rigsby, with a concern bordering on alarm.

"No I'm not," she confessed, threading her hand through the crook of his arm.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered. It was not a superficial question either, like such enquiries tended to be. He really meant it. She managed a little smile for him, and shook her head no. It was nice to feel as though someone truly cared for her.

"Can we walk?" she requested. "I think a view of the countryside would go a long way to cheering me up."

"Your wish is my command," he said.

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Jane slid off Citroen's back, giving her a grateful pat. They had ridden at full gallop, an unsuccessful attempt by him to put Teresa from his mind. But even the thundering of the horse's hooves had not been enough to drown out her voice in his head, whispering his name, drawing him in.

Mr. LaRoche emerged from inside and took Citroen by the reins.

"You have another visitor, sir," he said, idly stroking the mare's head. "Lord Mashburn is waiting for you in the drawing room."

Jane groaned. "What does he want?" he asked.

"He would only say that he has important news to share with you. And I would advise that you go there directly. His lordship seemed most impatient."

"I pay you to keep my house, not for your social advice," he snapped at his manservant, but relinquished the horse all the same. "Tell the stable boy to give her a good rub-down, and some carrots. She has ridden hard today."

Jane took his time reaching the drawing room, but all too soon found himself crossing the threshold and the tall figure of Mashburn rose to greet him.

"You took your time, Jane," he said.

"I think I may take the liberty of acting as I please in my own house," he replied. "I hear you have news."

"I do indeed. The very best. And I wished for you, friend, to be the first to know." He paused for dramatic effect, and Jane refrained from rolling his eyes. "I am very soon to be engaged."

Very few things in life truly had surprised Patrick Jane, but this was one of them. Mashburn, engaged? Mashburn, the roguish seducer of hundreds of women was finally to settle down. Such an idea was almost incomprehensible, and yet, as he searched his friend's face for the normal tells he displayed when he tried to trick him, he saw nothing but truth in his features.

"I see that you do not lie, but yet I cannot believe you," Jane said. "You take me for a fool, Mashburn."

"I do not wonder at your surprise, Jane," said his friend with a smirk. "Of the two of us, who would have expected for me to be the first to take a wife? Certainly not I."

"Nor I," he agreed. "And yet, here we sit." There was a question burning inside of him that he both longed, and feared to ask. Just who was the mystery woman who had finally tamed Lord Mashburn? In his mind, there was only one possible candidate. For there was only one woman in town whose society the lord had sought on a regular basis, that Jane knew for a fact Mashburn had even been alone with on occasion.

He riffled through his memory palace to try and think of any other woman of his acquaintance who might be on the point of becoming the new Lady Mashburn. But as he ran through the extensive list of his friend's conquests, he could think of no one else with even the slightest hope of securing his interest and affection for the rest of her life. Lord Mashburn was a man who bored easily; would need someone dynamic and challenging, to make him any good kind of wife.

Jane tried in vain to think of women who might fit that description, and to his distress, kept arriving at only one.

_Mrs. Mashburn. Lady Teresa Mashburn._

To think that he would be forced to address her as such for the rest of his life, to endure the constant glaring reminder that she belonged to someone else and not to him.

"You can hardly be insensible of my chosen match," the lord went on, confirming Jane's worry. "You are too clever, and know both of us too well to be in any doubt."

"I can only assume you allude to Miss Lisbon," he admitted, with a reluctance akin to pulling his own teeth.

"And as always, your instincts serve you well, Jane," said Lord Mashburn. "But I only wonder why you did not guess this before now."

"I shall not pretend I did not have an inkling," he continued, dispiritedly. "But I must confess, I could not desire such a match. Indeed, as you are an old friend I believe I owe you the truth of telling you that I have desired anything but."

He expected (or rather, very much hoped) Lord Mashburn's smile to falter, his cheer to dissipate and for him make a hasty exit, leaving him to contemplate this newfound misery in peace. On the contrary, Mashburn seemed amused by it.

"That is most ironic," he said, "for you must take some of the credit for my present happiness. All those times in London when you have come bearing tales of your fair companion Miss Lisbon made me desirous to meet her. For years I have been longing to see the subject of so many of our conversations, and I confess that my curiosity eventually became so strong that I made the journey here with the primary purpose of knowing her."

"So to marry her was always your intention?" asked Jane, thinking back to the ball where Teresa and Lord Mashburn had first met. The gentleman had paid her attention of course, but he'd always thought it just evidence of his womanizing demeanour, and Teresa's many perfections. Indeed on that first encounter, he'd have thought Mashburn a fool if he hadn't taken a shine to her. But he'd always hoped it to end there.

"Not at all. In the beginning it was simply a means to put a face to the name I had so often heard from you. But it did not take me long to see her for the treasure she truly is."

Jane involuntarily flinched at the loving description of Teresa; an echo of his own regard for her. But to hear it come so casually from Mashburn brought it home to him more than anything else could do, that this was not the recurring nightmare haunting him of late that would be shaken off when he awoke. This was very real.

Social cues demanded that he should smile or offer congratulations, but his emotions refused to allow it. Indeed, it was taking much of his self-control not to take a leaf out of Teresa's book and do something stupid and punch Mashburn in the nose. But what would it achieve? It would change nothing, make her angry with him, and more likely than not, would push her into his lordship's arms all the faster. He had already played more of a part in this whole affair than he would have ever intended; and he could not bring himself to put the final nail in his own proverbial coffin.

But if it would make her happy, he would support her. He'd walk her down the aisle himself if she asked him to, even if it tore him in two to witness her marry another man. He would sit in the church, with a smile on his face if it killed him. Which, he thought miserably, it very well may.

Lord Mashburn settled himself back in his armchair with a long sigh of contentment.

"You know Jane, we have always been very similar, you and I," he said. "We both like adventure and excitement, and are drawn to things that are unusual. But there is one crucial difference between us, I find. You have always been content to sit and contemplate over the things you desire, whereas I am not satisfied until I take them for my own."

Jane felt his lip curl at the obvious implication laced through this statement but was determined not to give Mashburn the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to him.

"It has always been my view that the reward is far greater when time is taken to appreciate the full value of the blessing to be received."

"In theory, yes," he agreed, with a careless wave of his hand. "But there comes a time when a man must stop thinking and start _doing_. Do you not agree?"

"Perhaps," he said. "But I would remind you that there is one person's opinion who you do not yet know in regards to your impending nuptials. And take it from me, she will not be happy to hear of you crowing of your conquest of her before you even ask for her hand."

It was his one last faintly glimmering hope. Most women would never dare to reject an offer of marriage from anyone, and particularly a man of Lord Mashburn's consequence, but Teresa was special. She just might. And that was the hope that he clung to. They had shared…something yesterday morning at the front door of her father's house. He could not believe that it had not affected her at least a little, after the way his mind had been turning it over and over all day.

Lord Mashburn smirked. "I am a wealthy man, Jane," he said, importantly. "I have several estates in three good neighbourhoods. I flatter myself that am I not unintelligent, rather handsome, and possess a certain charm. Miss Lisbon is a sensible woman, and with my added advantage of her father's approval, I consider myself all but engaged."

"You are a simpleton, Mashburn." The words escaped him before he could stop them. "A kinder, more beautiful creature than Teresa does not exist in this world; but you will never meet a woman more determined to do as she pleases. Assume nothing, until she has had her say. And if you are unwilling to do that, I declare that you do not deserve her."

Mashburn was unmoved. "You seem to have a lot of opinions about Miss Lisbon's future, Jane," he observed, dryly. "Why is this subject of such interest to you? Do you really think her so far above me?"

"I mean no affront to you, personally," he said, morosely. "If you are lucky enough to win her hand, I would ask of you one favour. She is the most precious angel, beyond all comparison. Treat her like one."

There seemed to be nothing else to say after that. Mashburn collected his hat and coat and departed, all the while with a most mysterious smile on his lips, which Jane could only suppose was triumph at his victory over him. He supposed all there was left to do now, was to wait for her to come to him and tell him that she was to be the new Lady Mashburn, and practice looking pleased for her.

Unless…it was now late in the day. Surely Mashburn would wait until at least tomorrow to make his offer, for he knew for a fact that he would be dining with business contacts in town tonight. He could very easily ride to her home. See her. Ascertain her feelings toward the lord. And if they were more favourable then he should like, he might be able to do something to change her mind.

A small stab of guilt made him pause. Mashburn was a close friend also. Could he really betray him this way? Sacrifice his friend's happiness in order to secure his own?

But then he imagined Teresa, smiling at him. In his arms again. By his side forever. And guilt disappeared. This wasn't over yet.

**A/N I'm sure many of you have already checked out Donna's brand new fic 'The Rocket's Red Glare.' If you haven't, do it now! It's further evidence of the fact that she is (in my opinion) one of the finest writers on FF. **

**And Merry Christmas to all!**


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Waterbaby134 is so wonderful, isn't she? It's not false modesty when I say I don't know how to top or even follow her brilliant chapter (my personal favorite in this fic). Here is my heartfelt attempt. Thanks for reading!

**Chapter 9**

Citroen was certainly getting a workout these days, Jane thought absently as he pulled up sharply on her reins in front of the Lisbon manor house. He climbed down and handed off the reins to a waiting Bertram. The stable master looked in disgust at the lathered state of his horse.

"And where are you goin' so fast, young whelp? It's shameful how roughshod you ride this she-devil. That would more than explain her ill behavior, I warrant."

"Where is she?" Jane demanded, for once refusing to be baited, or, for that matter, to bait him.

"If by _she_, you mean Miss Lisbon, why, last I saw of her, she was currying Tommy in the stables. Not that you deserve any favors, God knows, but I'd steer clear of her this day, for she's as lathered up as your mare here."

The man genuinely looked fearful, and Jane couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips. "I'll take that under advisement," he said, retaking his reins to lead his horse to the stables on his own.

"I warned you!" called Bertram, muttering to himself something about the hard-headedness of the privileged class.

It was probably a good thing Jane had run into Bertram, for their conversation had calmed him somewhat, and perhaps would spare Teresa from any untoward behavior on Jane's part. At least until he got some answers.

As Betram had said, he found the lady feverishly employing the curry comb to her favorite mount, Tommy. He watched her a moment, as she murmured soothing words to the horse with hair the exact shade of mahogany as its mistress. When she bent to brush one of the gelding's lower legs, he noticed as if for the first time how her scandalous man's riding breeches molded enticingly to her very feminine derrière. His mouth went dry, his heart slamming hard against his chest. Lord Virgil was right to forbid her to wear the man's garments anywhere that outsiders might catch a glimpse. He swallowed, briefly closing his eyes against what had never before been a temptation.

"You planning to skin poor Tommy alive?" he asked in what he hoped sounded like his usual wry tone. She started a bit, pausing briefly in her task, but continued on a moment later, her back still to him.

"What are you doing here, Jane?" she bit out impatiently, and he wondered at her clipped response. He thought they had buried their discord days before, and then, yesterday, when they'd very nearly kissed...

"What's eating you, Teresa? You don't sound like the deliriously happy, soon-to-be-engaged lady I was expecting to meet this day."

She did turn at this bold statement.

"Oh? And is this from a man in similar straits?"

He looked genuinely startled. "What do you mean?"

She moved to fill a feedbag with oats and busied herself strapping it to Tommy's head, the horse happily snorting into the treat. She brushed the oat dust from her hands and brought her attention fully to her old friend.

"Why, your devoted idolater, Miss Van Pelt, of course. I suppose that makes you the winner of our wager, though my father has beaten you in choosing a match for me."

Jane tried to process the information she was hurling at him, lapsing into an uncharacteristic blankness for a moment. When it finally hit him what she meant, his eyes became merry with amusement, but the rest of his countenance remained solemn.

"I'm flattered you believe I would be the perfect match for Miss Van Pelt. I wonder I didn't think of it myself; would have saved us both a lot of time and, shall we say, _misfires_?"

"I suppose you're right. I have been horribly blind and mistaken about so many things these days that I fear I shall second-guess myself for years to come."

"If that is the case, then I still may have time to direct you against a course of action you may be considering." He took a deep breath and stepped closer to her, watching how her green eyes widened slightly, the wisps of dark hair that had escaped her chignon floating gently around her sweetly flushed cheeks.

"You mean with Lord Mashburn?" she ventured. She wasn't denying it, however. "He is a fine catch—you above anyone would agree, given how much you've always gone on about him."

"Oh, he is a fine gentleman, despite his many faults. But he is _not _fine for you, my dear Teresa."

"That is not for you to say," she said tightly, her ire on the rise. "I shall marry whomever I choose, without any undue influence from either you or my meddling father. So, unless you have come to wish me well, I suggest you leave before I take the curry comb to _your _hide."

"I am not leaving, even under threat of violence, until you promise me you will not marry that…that…womanizing rakehell."

"Well, what a friend you are," she chided angrily. "I wonder what you say about _me_ behind my back."

"Promise me, Teresa," he bit out, his own anger building to match hers. "I'm in no mood to trifle with you."

"_You're_ in no mood?" she said, stepping closer to him, her fists clenched in rage. "How dare you come to my home, making demands of me? You presume too much upon my friendship to think I would allow you to make my most sacred decisions for me. Let me make this perfectly and completely clear," she said, one small finger stabbing him in the chest for emphasis. "Patrick…Jane, this…is none…of…your… damned…business."

Her unusual use of profanity might have disgusted another man, but her words suddenly made him feel hot all over, and before he could even think, he'd grabbed her offending hand and hauled her body against his, managing to hold her tightly despite her writhing objections. On the contrary, her movements enflamed him further, and his eyes locked on hers, holding her gaze as well.

"You _won't_ marry Mashburn," he said softly, dangerously. "I won't allow it."

She stilled, save for her chest rising and falling rapidly against his. "And just what are you going to do to stop—"

But her final word was lost in the crushing press of his angry mouth upon hers.

Like most young women, Miss Teresa Lisbon had dreamed of how her first kiss would be. In her mind, it would be sweet and tender, gently coaxing, but perfectly proper and chaste. It would seal her engagement to the man of her dreams, and she would live on the lovely memory of that kiss until the one they shared before the local parson. But this kiss with Patrick Jane was nothing like anything her maiden heart could have possibly imagined.

Instead of soft and coaxing, his lips were firm and demanding, possessing her mouth with a heady passion that made her legs nearly buckle beneath her, her hands going involuntarily to his shoulders to allow her to remain standing. But he seemed careless to her sudden weakness, and with an impatient moan, he breached the seal of her lips, his seeking tongue slipping inside to caress hers. Teresa's heart was pounding so hard by this point, she thought she might faint, but she helplessly kissed him back, her sudden participation only seeming to spur him on.

He lost his hands in her fallen hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss further, so that she no longer knew the difference between his mouth and hers. It seemed to go on forever, and she had no desire to stop him. Finally, he broke away to breathe, but he wasn't done with her yet. His hands slid from her hair, down her spine to where the breeches stretched softly over her buttocks. He pulled her even closer against him, and she could feel the hard front of his fawn colored breeches.

Teresa had watched the horses and the cows mating in the fields, and she knew well what his body was telling her. He wanted her, and not in the romantic, poetic way of a courting swain. With this realization, any girlish notions of love were buried forever, and in their place the innate understanding of a completely grown woman. Jane looked at her now, his eyes dazed with desire and deep emotion, and she could feel that his body was actually trembling with restraint beneath her hands.

"Oh, Teresa," he murmured fondly, and found her mouth again. This time his kiss _was_ tender, even sweeter than her prior imaginings, as if in apology for his previous roughness. He nibbled gently on her swollen lower lip, then moved to her cheek to kiss her enchanting dimple. She felt tears form beneath her closed eyelids, and the scents of hay, horses, and his bay rum cologne settled around them. But much to her surprise, she found she now craved his earlier passion, and she boldly went on tiptoe to bury her hands in his soft curls, directing his mouth back to hers. Hesitantly, she coaxed his lips apart and he stilled, breathing harshly, while he waited to see what she might do.

When her tongue touched his again, his restraint flew out the barn window, and his passion ignited again with the hesitant innocence of her soft mouth. Who was this bewitching creature he was kissing, who was kissing him back with such ardor? This wasn't his lifelong friend, his boon companion, his partner in mischief. Gone were the pigtails and the pigs' tails of their childhood, and in their place was the woman of his every fantasy—warm, yielding, giving, exciting.

In the back of his mind, a warning nudged his befuddled brain. Despite her passion, she was an innocent, and it would not take much to steal that from her in a pile of sweet-smelling hay. For once in their lives, he would have to be the strong one here. Gently but firmly, he pulled his lips from hers, and he set her safely away from him. The picture she made—hair askew, full wet lips, eyelids at half-mast-were almost his undoing, but he forced himself to keep his distance, for both their sakes.

"I—" He cleared his throat, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. "I fear I must apologize, Miss Lisbon," he said formally. "But unfortunately, the words may stick in my craw, for I find I am not sorry in the least. So, slap me, box my ears, strike me in the nose—I deserve all and sundry punishment you might exact and give you leave to do with me what you will."

He waited expectantly, but was unprepared for her slow smile, found himself breathless once more at the sight of the awakened sensuality in her expression. She walked forward again, her hands sliding up to rest on his waistcoat-clad chest.

"I believe after my own rather tawdry display, I might be equally deserving of a good ear boxing."

"Teresa—" he warned, already picturing her writhing body beneath his on this very floor.

But she lay her cheek against him instead, her head fitting neatly beneath his chin as her arms wrapped around his waist beneath his coat. He held her to his body and they stood there in silence, a cloud of feeling threatening to overwhelm their senses in an even more powerful way than their fused mouths had done moments before.

"So we are agreed," he said finally, and she reveled in the soft rumble of his words beneath her ear. "Lord Mashburn could not possibly be the man for you."

She smiled, but made her voice sound stern for his benefit. "I have agreed to nothing of the kind. He has not kissed me yet, you see. How am I to know if he will make a good husband unless I first ascertain whether his kisses are pleasing? My Granny Madeleine always says that you wouldn't buy a pair of shoes unless you tried them on first."

With that, he pushed her from him again, his judgment somewhat hazy in light of her nearness and his overwhelming jealousy where Lord Mashburn was concerned. When he saw her eyes, however, sparkling and lively with mirth, he blushed slightly at his own foolishness.

"You don't have a Granny Madeleine. Granny Madeleine is that thrice-married widow you tend to each Friday. I shall have your father forbid your visiting her if this is the kind of ill advice with which she is muddying your mind."

"You will do no such thing. On the contrary, she offers some very sage counsel on all manner of things. And she likes my blueberry scones nearly as much as you do."

"Impossible," he argued with a soft smile.

But then her eyes clouded and she turned away from him, reaching out to absently remove Tommy's empty feedbag. He watched her, a vague feeling of panic threatening within him again. He rushed to reassure her.

"Teresa. I don't want to assume anything with you. No one need know what has passed between us, if you don't wish it. I would, however, like to speak to your father—"

"No!" she said, turning back to him. "You do presume too much, sir. Just because we shared a kiss-" he raised an eyebrow at her understatement—"or two, does not mean we are bound for the alter."

"It _would _mean that if anyone other than Tommy had witnessed our interlude, and you well know it."

She couldn't deny that. In that instance, society would deem her hopelessly ruined were he not to make an immediate offer of marriage.

"Nevertheless, I need time to…think. This is happening so fast, Jane—"

"Fast? We've known each other practically our entire lives. Both of us were idiots not to have seen that we are perfectly suited for each other."

"And yet, it still seems hasty to go from friends to lovers in the space of a few days."

"Lovers?" he asked, delighting in her blush, and helplessly reaching for her at the same time. "Is that what we've become?"

"You know what I mean," she said, brushing aside his hands, and tearing herself away from his seductive eyes. "And besides, there are a pair of mutual friends who might become disappointed at our new match. We've led them to believe-"

"I've led no one to believe anything, Teresa. If you refer to Miss Van Pelt, I have merely been kind to her for your sake, as well as for the imminently eligible Mr. Rigbsy. She's a charming enough girl, but I find that my tastes run more to the headstrong brunette rather than the ginger-haired wallflower."

Her heart warmed at his words, yet she found herself hesitant to make another hasty decision. "Still, we must let them down easily."

"And then will you consent?" he asked hopefully. "Will you give me the chance to win you?"

His blue-green eyes were drawing her in again, and she was very tempted to throw herself wantonly into his arms once more, allowing herself to succumb to the passion she'd felt beneath his hands, beneath his lips. In truth, he had won her long ago; she had only just realized it.

"Patience, Jane. We must both find patience somehow. There are many things I must consider, and I must have adequate time to do so—away from your unsettling presence."

"You find me unsettling, do you?" He said knowingly.

"How could I not, considering…" she admitted with a smile. "And now," she said, snapping out of her mesmerized state. "I insist you leave, before I decide to box your ears merely for the fun of it." She held up a fist in warning.

He took her hand now, unfolding her fingers before bending over and kissing her palm ardently, while she shivered at the rush of renewed feeling.

"I'll be waiting," he whispered, looking intently up into her eyes. "Anxious for your feelings."

She nodded, unable to speak, as he left her in the barn. She stood so still so long that Tommy nudged her for attention.

"Sorry, boy," she said in bemusement, patting his long, dark neck. "Mr. Jane is driving me to distraction these days."

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Teresa arose after a mostly sleepless night to dress for breakfast and prepare herself for her morning calls. First on her list was Miss Van Pelt, to whom she had sent a rather urgent sounding letter the evening before. The young lady was anxiously awaiting her arrival and greeted her in Mrs. Shettrick's drawing room with a look of deep concern.

"Is everything well with you, Miss Lisbon?" she asked. "I pray you aren't bringing bad news."

"No, no," she said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I wanted to be sure that you were able to take my call this morning, that's all. I do bring news, though I'm not quite sure how you will receive it."

"Nothing you could say could possibly be ill-received, Miss Lisbon. Please sit down and I'll ring for tea."

That done, Miss Van Pelt turned to face her on the settee, and Teresa reached for her hands.

"Miss Van Pelt—Grace. Mr. Jane visited yesterday afternoon."

The girl brightened immediately. "And how is Mr. Jane? Not ill, I hope."

"No. He's quite well, actually, last I saw him. This is difficult to say, but I suppose there's nothing for it but to tell you straight out. It seems that Mr. Jane and I now have a sort of…understanding between us. Of a…a romantic nature."

Teresa held her breath, waiting for the inevitable wellspring of tears.

"Is that all?"

"Well…yes. I'm so sorry, dear, that you got your hopes up so high about Mr. Jane. I did try to warn you that he wasn't the man for you, but you seemed to turn a deaf ear. But if this is too hurtful, Grace, I've made no direct promises to Mr. Jane, and I'd hold off on any plans until your broken heart is mended."

"Oh, Miss Lisbon! You needn't fear that of me! While I admit I had a brief tendre for the gentleman, I realized how in error I was to have done so. For indeed, Mr. Jane was clearly intended for you."

Teresa was nearly as shocked as she'd been when she'd felt Jane's lips covering hers the day before. Nearly.

"Pardon me, my friend, but I felt you were holding out hope that Mr. Jane might make you an offer."

"It was only a brief fantasy, Miss Lisbon. Please don't concern yourself with me. But let us rejoice at your happy news! You love Mr. Jane, don't you? Forgive me, but I am truly unsurprised. You two are as perfect a match as ever I have seen! And the way he looks at you! I can't believe I even thought for a moment that he might have an interest in me."

"Nonsense, Grace! Had I not feelings for Mr. Jane, myself, I would have gladly recommended you for his wife. But now, I fear we must find someone to fill the empty space that must be in your heart, despite your gracious acceptance of my news."

There was a brief flicker of a secret happiness in her eye, which she quickly squelched, leaving Teresa wondering if she had seen it at all.

"Please forgive me yet again, Miss Lisbon, if I beg you not to try to match me at all anymore. It isn't that I'm not most grateful, I assure you—"

"It's just that my record on your account has been dismal to say the least. Don't apologize; I quite understand," Teresa replied miserably.

"Oh, it isn't that. But before I explain, you must help me with something."

"Anything, you ask, I'll gladly do."

Miss Van Pelt rose and went to the mantelpiece and retrieved a small wooden box, the top of which was carved with the label,_ Most Precious Treasures._

"Please, Miss Lisbon, join me by the fire."

There was a small fire in the grate, given the chilly morning air of springtime, and the two ladies moved to adjoining chairs before it.

The girl reverently opened the lid of the box, which was attached by two small golden hinges. Teresa peered curiously inside, and saw that it was lined with white cotton and contained many things for such a small box. Grace reached in and drew out a man's handkerchief, with the monogram of _LW_.

"This is the handkerchief of Mr. Luther Wainwright," she explained. "He gave it to me that night at Miss Dean's dinner party. He was such a kind gentleman, but I fear he was more enamored of you."

Teresa flushed, for once unable to find any words, and frankly embarrassed to recall the events of that night that Miss Van Pelt was not witness to. She watched in amazement as Grace tossed the article onto the grate. It smoked briefly, then caught fire.

"And this is the flower I wore in my hair the day of the picnic. Mr. O'laughlin commented on how lovely it looked." She held up a dried flower that looked like it was once a yellow rose, and it too found its fiery demise.

"And this," she continued, rustling through the box, "was the fichu I wore the day Mr. Jane saved me from the flood." She seemed most loathe to part with that keepsake, but she did nonetheless.

"Now," she said happily. "My past has been burned away, and I am ready for whatever is to come my way."

"But there are still other things left in your box," Teresa commented. "These must be treasures you wish to hold onto." She'd noticed a pair of kid gloves, a four-leafed clover, and what looked to be the button from a man's shirt, among other small trifles. Grace flushed scarlet and snapped the lid closed.

"Those things I shall keep for now," she explained. "Perhaps one day I'll tell you more about them."

"Why, Grace, you are behaving so mysteriously. I must say that I like how much you have come out of your shell these past weeks. It is heartening to see you are not the shy girl who once refused to dance at a ball."

"No, Miss Lisbon, I feel I am no longer that girl at all, and I know it has much to do with how you have taken me under your wing, boosted my confidence, and tried to help me find a suitable husband. Please don't despair—your interest and friendship have given me much happiness despite a few missteps."

"And are you truly happy, my dear Grace?"

"Oh, yes, I'm certainly beginning to become so."

"Well then," replied Miss Lisbon, in grateful relief, "don't you think it's past time you began calling me _Teresa_?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa arrived home that afternoon after her remaining weekly calls, tired to her bones. While it had been good to have other people's troubles and good news to occupy her for a while, she still faced the looming question that had kept her awake the night before. Was Patrick Jane truly the husband for her? She could no longer deny to herself that she was in love with him—their passionate kisses of the day before had made that abundantly clear to her heart. Unfortunately, it had more than muddled her brain.

Would marriage ruin their friendship, a relationship she held as dearly as she did that with her own father? Could she marry someone she had known so long, whose habits and preferences were nearly second nature to her? Where would be the mystery and excitement of discovery?

But she knew the latter was no longer a sound argument. Her knowledge in friendship with Jane was one thing, she thought with a blush, learning his habits and preferences as a lover would be something else entirely. She yearned to be in his arms again, to experience once more his sensual kisses, kisses that made her feel as giddy and out of control as the time she'd had a third glass of sherry at Mrs. Hightower's Christmas musicale. The next morning she had vowed she would never over-imbibe again. Now here she was, longing to be made drunk once more by Jane's kisses. But once her curiosity about physical love waned, would she have sacrificed all and have lost her closest friend?

Round and round the arguments circled in her mind until she thought she would go mad. She disembarked from her carriage and walked up the steps to her home, fully intending to lay down for a nap. She handed her bonnet and gloves to Kristina, who smiled and offered the intriguing information that Lord Mashburn was with Lord Virgil in his study.

"How long has he been there?"

"Goin' on an hour, Miss."

"Well, here is my chance to speak with Lord Mashburn," she said to herself. But Kristina had stood in waiting and heard her.

"He would make some woman a fine husband," said the maid. "So handsome, so charming…"

"Yes," replied Teresa. "Thank you, Kristina."

The woman curtsied and left her, while Teresa wandered down the hall to her father's study. She had raised her hand to knock when Lord Mashburn's jovial laughter interrupted her, and she heard an interesting tidbit she had never heard of before.

"…I must comment, Lord Virgil, on how fortuitous it was that we met in London last fall."

Teresa's eyes grew round with surprise. Her father had never mentioned meeting Lord Mashburn last year. Indeed, he had acted as if they were strangers the night of the ball only weeks before.

"Yes, yes, my good man, so it was," replied her father. "I'd nearly given up hope that my darling Teresa would wake up and see that the man she should be with was right under her nose."

"And I had grown tired of Jane being unable to stick with a girl because they never measured up to the paragon that was Miss Lisbon."

"I must say, your plan was brilliant, Mashburn. Simply brilliant. I don't believe even Jane, known for his uncanny ability to seemingly read one's mind, could see how easily we were manipulating him."

"Jealousy does have the tendency to make a man realize the value of what he covets most."

"And what a lark! My Teresa, who prides herself on her skills as a matchmaker. How blind she has been to the truth of her own heart."

There was a clinking of glasses in what sounded like a toast to their own brilliance.

Both men laughed heartily, while Teresa had grown sick at the stomach. Her father had lied to her, and she had fallen under the spell of his machinations, trusting that his love for her was what had motivated him to interfere with her love life. In truth, he was laughing at her now, at how easily she and Jane had been tricked. What if their plan had backfired and she had fallen in love with Lord Mashburn? Would she have ended up brokenhearted when she realized that he didn't truly love her?

Tears began streaming down her face, and the walls of her beloved home suddenly seemed to close in around her. All she could think of was getting out, and she ran back through the house, ignoring the concerned cry of Lady May as she passed her in the hall. She stumbled down the front steps, then ran blindly into the woods, heedless of the limbs that tore at her best morning gown, of the soft earth that soiled her new white slippers.

A/N: One more chapter to go, and perhaps an epilogue. It seems like waterbaby and I just started this fic, yet here we are again at the end of another collaboration. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. We are both tremendously flattered and grateful. Now, back to waterbaby's more than capable hands…


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: To all the readers, I extend a heartfelt apology for the lateness of this chapter. I can only hope it makes up for at least some of the wait.**

**Chapter 10: Conclusion**

It was many minutes before Teresa finally stopped running. Only when her lungs felt as though they were on fire in her chest did she slow, and fall against a convenient tree. She stood with her back to the trunk, puffing and panting for a time, until she got her breath back enough to take note of her surroundings.

In her despair, she had travelled far from the house; in fact, off her father's land completely, and found herself in a small glade, well-concealed amongst the close-growing trees. The sun was filtering through a few small gaps in the leaves, casting dancing light here and there over the grass and rocks, of which she selected the largest and flattest to make her seat. It was a peaceful kind of place, so it was a shame that she should have happened across it in such a terrible state.

The exercise had helped to take the edge off her anger, but the feeling of betrayal was still fresh. In all her twenty-two years, her life had included only two constants: her friendship with Jane, and a deep respect and affection for her father. Now, in the space of mere days, her best friend was on the verge of becoming her lover and she'd discovered that her father had been playing them both like marionettes for weeks.

As a result of her mother's early death, she and her father had always been close while she'd been growing up, and while other fathers were pushing their daughters into society, willing to marry them off to the first available suitor, hers had always encouraged her to wait for the right man. There had never been any rush for her to wed, and for that she had always been grateful. She never would have imagined him to betray her like this, and for him to allow a complete stranger to toy with her emotions in this scandalous manner was an even greater crime.

There were so many ways the scheme could have gone awry. Why, it had taken no less than the threat of a proposal of marriage to induce Jane to come to her side. What if that had still not been enough? How far had they been prepared to go? Would the Lord have made her an offer, even go so far as to marry her, before they were forced to accept their failure? And where would that have left her? Trapped in a loveless marriage, with no chance of escape, with her heart's true desire forever out of reach.

Oh, what would Jane say when he too became aware of the deception? He hated to be wrong and even more, to be tricked. He had a pride bordering on arrogance of his own abilities, and to be beaten at his own game would be the most shameful thing that could ever happen to him. How far would he go to prove his mental superiority? Would he pretend it all had never happened? Perhaps he would even rescind his claim on her, and their love would both begin and end with that passionate interlude in the stable, becoming nothing but a sweet memory.

With a sigh, she removed her shoes and pushed her toes into the soft grass. This time yesterday, she had been in the blissful oblivion of Jane's kisses, having her first experience of true love and sensual desire, of being wanted so desperately that he had literally needed to force himself to step away from her. Had he not stopped it, she felt sure she would have given him her innocence and her respectability, or indeed anything he asked, just for the continued pleasure of his touch.

"Miss Lisbon?"

A voice calling her name pulled her sharply out of her memories of that glorious afternoon, and back to the present. Her first thought was that the speaker was Jane, as if her thoughts of him had telepathically called him to her side, but the voice was too deep and the footsteps heavier than his. She just had time to be slightly embarrassed at her silly girlish notion before Mr O'Laughlin appeared out of the undergrowth.

"How do you do, Mr O'Laughlin?" she said politely but coolly, hopefully discouraging him from wanting to stop and chat, for all she wanted was to be alone.

"Very well indeed, my lady," he said. "But I must confess I did not expect you to be here."

"Then that makes two of us," she said. "I did not know that this place existed until a few minutes ago."

The gentleman removed his hat and settled himself on the grass opposite her. "I came across it many years ago, while out walking one day. I have been coming here ever since for some peace, and reflection."

Reading between the lines of that statement, Teresa supposed this had been a haven for Mr O'Laughlin whenever tensions had arisen with his father at home. From the stories that had been passed around town, she could certainly understand his need for escape.

"You look as if you have something on your mind, Miss Lisbon," he said, presently. "Would it soothe you to share your troubles with me?"

"You are most kind," she said. "But it is of no great importance, and I should not wish to bother you with it."

"On the contrary, something that manages to distress the unflappable Miss Lisbon enough to have her flee this far away from home without an escort, must be of great importance indeed. And if I may be so bold as to say so," he added with a smile. "I am rather good at keeping secrets, so my discretion is assured."

This managed to elicit a smile from her. Mr O'Laughlin would be quite justified to want nothing to do with her ever again after the picnic, as it had been she who had failed to pull Jane into line before he spilled his most closely guarded secret. But she was very pleased to see that he seemed to have put the unpleasantness behind him, and would even venture to say that he looked happier today than she could ever remember seeing him before leaving his father's home. Once again, it seemed Jane's borderline madness had worked to his advantage. He always had been good at wriggling out of trouble.

"I have had a disagreement with my father," she said slowly. "He has done me a great wrong, and I am most unhappy with him." The gentleman was too polite to press for further details on the subject, but his obvious curiosity, as well as her own need to tell somebody of her woes, made her carry on regardless.

"He wishes me to marry," she said. "And instead of allowing me to choose a suitor for myself, has orchestrated things so as to practically choose one for me, even though he promised faithfully that he would never do such a thing."

"Indeed," said Mr O'Laughlin. "And do you disapprove of the chosen gentleman?"

An image of Jane standing beside her on their wedding day appeared in her mind. She imagined him smiling only for her, and his eyes gazing at no other, and felt her heart quicken.

"Not exactly," she said. This was stretching the truth a hundredfold, for she now could not think of any man she could ever love even half as well as him.

"Do you imagine that you could find happiness with the suitor?"

Of that, there could be no doubt. As long as those intoxicating kisses kept coming, and as often as possible, she could want for nothing else.

"I do," she admitted.

"Then I would venture to say that Lord Virgil has chosen well. You and Mr Jane shall make a fine pair," he said, slyly.

Teresa, who had been again reliving the stolen moment in the stable, was again brought back to earth with an unpleasant bump. "Excuse me?" she said, using a superhuman effort to retain her ladylike persona. "I do not recall making any mention of Mr Jane."

"Forgive me my lady, for my presumption," he said, with a hint of amusement. "But am I incorrect?"

She could tell just by looking at him that there was no point trying to deny it, so she let out a small sigh of resignation. "How did you know?"

"There has never been any doubt in my mind that you and he were destined for one another. And you will be hard-pressed to find anyone in town who would disagree." He smiled at her again, more gently now, as she cast her eyes down in embarrassment. "It is a joyful thing," he said. "You will be the happiest woman in the country, and Mr Jane will be by far the happiest man. Whatever your father has done to vex you must be worth that."

She had to admit she had not yet considered the incident in this light. Had her father and Mashburn not forced Jane's hand, they would never have ended up where they were now. And essentially, what they had done was almost the same as what she had attempted with Miss Van Pelt. In fact, the only difference was that, unlike her, they had been successful.

She and Mr. O'Laughlin talked a few minutes more, and in the course of that conversation, she made the surprising discovery that he was now engaged to marry the notorious Mrs. Flynn. With his proclivities and his fiancée's somewhat questionable actions, they seemed a well-matched pair. So well matched in fact, that she couldn't help thinking that the arrangement bore the stamp of a self-professed matchmaker she knew.

To think that he had gone to such trouble to fix the rift he had caused made her love him, if it were possible, still more.

Mr. O'Laughlin insisted on escorting her home, and when she arrived, she was very pleased to find that her father and stepmother had already gone to bed, for she was in no mood to be questioned about where she had been.

She retreated to her own bedroom, and sat by the window, gazing out upon the starry sky. So many times she had sat in this very spot, listening out for the plink of stones hitting the glass, and Jane's earnest whisper, urging her to come join him in whatever mischief he had planned.

She had always felt a thrill of excitement when the first stone hit, which only increased, as she descended the vine and landed with a light thud at his side. And then, away they would go, into the night, and sometimes not return until sunrise. It had seemed so normal to her as she was growing up, as natural as breathing to want to spend every waking moment with him. She'd always been happy when she was with him, and sorry when they parted. Perhaps she had loved him even then, but had been simply too young and inexperienced in the ways of love to recognize her feelings for what they were.

In hindsight, she thought that she should have seen it earlier. When he was away at school in London she used to scour his letters for mentions of other girls, and rejoice when she found none. On the day he returned, she greeted him in a brand new gown, commissioned by her from her personal savings just for the occasion, and when he'd descended from the carriage, her joy in seeing him had been so great that she could not stop smiling all day.

With both their fathers present, the most he had been able to do was clasp her hand in greeting, but still it made her heart lighter to have him back with her again.

She smiled to herself now, as she rose from the windowsill and slipped into her bed. That girl was a far cry from what she was today. She was wiser now. She was no longer a child. But was she truly ready to be a wife? As she contemplated this monumental question, she found herself fingering the necklace that she had worn faithfully every day since her mother's death. A simple crucifix strung on a golden chain, the piece of jewellery was one of the few relics of her mother that she had. Not much else had survived. Her father had gotten rid of it all a few weeks after she had died; the reminders were too painful.

While usually not one to wallow in her grief, or fret over things beyond her power to change, Teresa found herself wishing her mother could be here now to guide her through this. Surely she would have had some sage advice or some comforting words to help her feel better about it all. She would have approved of her choice, Teresa decided, smiling to herself. Her mother had always liked Jane, and indeed treated him as though he were her own. Having little contact with his own mother kept him ever grateful for her efforts, and he had loved her too.

One way or another, Jane had always been part of the family.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"LaRoche, have I had any telegrams this morning?" Jane asked his manservant, as he rose from the breakfast table.

"No, sir," said the man, as he bent to take away the plate and cutlery. "Are you expecting one?"

He ignored this. "I shall be out on the grounds," he said. "If there are any letters or messages of any kind, come to me directly."

"Very good, sir."

A day had passed since the Stable Incident, and so far, not one word had reached him from Teresa. He'd solemnly promised to give her time, but by God, how much time did the woman need? Why was she not here already throwing herself into his waiting arms? Perhaps this was her way of toying with him, thinking to test his love by keeping him in suspense. If that was indeed her plan, she was succeeding; the tension was driving him mad.

It was a warm spring morning, and he ambled about his estate at his leisure, stopping every now and then to confer with the gardeners. Every few minutes he found himself glancing back at the house to see if Mr. LaRoche, or better yet, Teresa, might be approaching, but each time was disappointed.

As he entered the stable, Citroen nickered happily at the sight of him as she munched away on the carrots the stableboy had brought her. Jane reached over the stable door to pet her mane, and the horse nuzzled his hand affectionately.

"All it takes is a handful of carrots to make you happy," he said, ruefully. "Why can't all women be as easy to please?"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had only just finished dressing when Kristina tapped on her door the next morning.

"You have a visitor Miss Lisbon," she said. "Miss Van Pelt awaits you in the drawing room."

When she entered the room Grace leapt up from her seat on the settee and rushed over to her, eyes shining with excitement.

"He wants to marry me!" she exclaimed, brandishing a sheet of paper covered in writing at Teresa.

"I'm sorry dear, I'm not quite following you," she replied, slightly taken aback by this stunning news. "Of whom do you speak?"

"Why, of Mr. Rigsby," said Grace, timidly. "He wrote to me this morning to beg for my hand." She held out the letter again, gesturing that Teresa should read it. "He says he loved me from the moment we were introduced at Mrs. Dean's dinner party, but he thought I would never look at him for he is not as rich or handsome as Mr. Jane. Though I suppose I need not point that out to_ you_, of course," she added slyly, and Teresa flushed.

"No, indeed."

"But I hope you will forgive me if I should think of him as the most agreeable man of my acquaintance, Teresa, despite his fortune being inferior to Mr. Jane's, and if I should confess to being very much in love with him too."

Teresa let out a humourless chuckle. Only someone as sweet-tempered as Grace could ever feel she had disappointed her just by falling in love. A fine dance she had lead her on these few weeks, if anything it should be herself begging forgiveness. But it was a credit to Grace's good nature and beauty that she had managed to find herself a good husband without requiring any of Teresa's help.

"Grace, I have every confidence that you will be happier in this match, than in any one I could have made on your behalf," she said. "And as your friend, your happiness is all I could wish for."

A brilliant smile crossed Miss Van Pelt's face at these words and she grasped both of Teresa's hands.

"Oh thank you, Teresa. It means a great deal to me that you understand, for it would have given me such pain to do something that would cause you displeasure."

"Well, you needn't worry about that. But I must ask, in the event that I did disapprove, would you not have married him anyway?"

Grace giggled. "Of course," she said.

"Good girl," she said, approvingly. "You should never let my opinion keep you from doing as you wish. Why, if I had my way, you would be wed to Mr. Wainwright now, and that is a fate I would wish on nobody."

"Do not judge him too harshly, Teresa," said Grace, though she smirked. "He at least had the good taste to fall in love with you."

Teresa refrained from making a face. "Nevertheless, an error in judgment on my part. Now come, share with me this letter of yours."

Kristina was summoned to bring in tea as Grace read Mr. Rigsby's letter aloud, sighing dreamily at the more tender passages, and with a faint tinge of scarlet to her cheek that made her look lovelier than Teresa had ever seen her. Such happiness agreed with her; Mr Rigsby was a lucky man.

"Oh!" Grace exclaimed, after they had thoroughly deconstructed the letter in its entirety. "I am so swept up in my own bliss that I think nothing of yours, Teresa. Tell me, do we have another engagement to celebrate? Has Mr. Jane made you an offer?"

Teresa examined the rim of her teacup, playing for time.

"He has not made me an explicit offer, strictly speaking," she said, in a small voice.

The letter fell from Grace's hand and fluttered to the floor. "Why ever not?" she asked. "You love him, and he clearly loves you. Why on Earth should he hesitate?"

"We have discussed the matter," Teresa clarified, feeling the need to defend him, for it was not his fault they were not engaged. She suspected he would have proposed right then and there had she not told him to leave when she had. "There is much to consider. He is the most wonderful friend I could ever have. It is difficult for me to give that up."

"Think not of what you will lose, but of what you will gain," said Grace, gently. "You have been given a rare opportunity, Miss Lisbon, to know him as well as you do, to be assured of your love before you wed, rather than leaving it to chance like so many others. You must not let it slip away."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Grace had left (presumably to go and accept Mr. Rigsby's proposal), all Teresa wanted was to see Jane. Seeing her friend's happiness made her realize just how much she wanted to have that joy for herself. She must put aside her fears and her wounded pride and seize the opportunity she had been given, or live forever in regret.

She rode the mile and a half down the road to Jane's home, and when the stately home came into view, nudged Tommy into a full gallop, suddenly desirous to get there as quickly as possible.

Mr. LaRoche met her at the door.

"Good day, Miss Lisbon. The master will be very pleased you have come; he has been in a state of great agitation today."

"Did he say why?" she asked, suddenly terrified, but to her relief the manservant shook his head.

"No, but whatever it is must be very important. I have never seen him so restless before."

"Where is he?"

"Wandering about the grounds, when last I looked," said Mr. LaRoche unconcernedly. "When you find him, will you please tell him the mail has arrived? He has been asking about it all morning."

Leaving Tommy to LaRoche's care, Teresa set off across the well-kept grass that covered Jane's large estate. She knew these grounds almost as well as she did her own; they had played here together as children. With its many patches of trees, thickets of bushes, and gardens filled with lush flowers, it had been an excellent place for hide-and-seek.

She had spent countless happy days here as a child, never imagining that she might be mistress of it someday.

She rounded a bed on the garden path, and found that she was heading toward the eastern side of the property, where lay a pool, surrounded by shrubbery that they had used to swim in during the summertime. It was a warm day today, and she was struck by how pleasant it would be to take off her shoes and dip her feet in the cool water for a moment. She was surprised, however, to find that she was not the only one to have such an idea.

Jane was standing at the water's edge, and as she watched, he plunged his hands into the water and splashed it onto his face and neck. It seemed the light sprinkling had not been enough to satisfy him however, as he gave a small sigh, before sitting on the grass to remove his shoes and socks. He then discarded his hat and coat, loosened his tie, and undid his collar.

She stepped behind a tangly bush, and watched; transfixed as he approached the edge once more clad only in his trousers and white shirt, and dove cleanly into the water. He swam the length of the pool and then broke the surface at the other end, glistening drops of water falling from his wet hair and his shirt completely transparent, leaving hardly anything to the imagination.

She flushed furiously, but was unable to look away, for never had she experienced a sight so glorious as this. A strange and most unladylike thought took up residence in her head, that she should very much like to go and help him dispense of that shirt altogether, not to mention the very extensive list of other things she would also like to do to him, none of which were very chaste, but all of which made her tingle all over with excitement.

She observed him make a few more lengths of the pool and then delightfully, unbutton the shirt and throw it aside, allowing her to truly appreciate his very pleasing chest and arms. Oh, to wake up to _that_ every morning would be most satisfactory indeed, and to think that this frankly ridiculously handsome man should have chosen her of all people to be his partner in life was a concept that she was still getting used to.

She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed she'd been gradually edging out of the camouflage of the bush, until he addressed her.

"You know, you never were much good at hide and seek Teresa," he said, with a grin, as she scowled in displeasure at having been caught out.

"How long have you known I was there?" she asked.

"Quite long enough, my lady, I assure you," he said. "I always have enjoyed putting on a show for a willing audience; though I do believe you will need to say a few extra Hail Mary's for those impure thoughts that were running through your head."

Seeing as she could not truthfully deny this accusation, she instead deigned to make no response at all. Unfortunately, the smirk that crossed his face told her that he took her silence as confirmation of his theory.

"Can I not persuade you to join me?" he asked, extending a hand to her. "I'm sure you will find the water most refreshing." She did not think she had ever received a more inviting offer, and she was sorely tempted to accept him, but something told her that the Almighty would probably not approve of engaging in such shenanigans with a man to whom she was not married, or even engaged.

Well, not yet anyway.

"I thank you, but no," she said reluctantly, like the well brought up lady she was, and he smiled fondly, shaking his head.

"Miss Lisbon, respectable to the last," he said.

"I wouldn't say that exactly," she said. "In fact, some might say your influence has on occasion made me act in a quite unrespectable manner."

"Perhaps I have led you from the path of righteousness from time to time," he said, "but you cannot deny, you always enjoyed yourself."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same, for slipping off with him for one of their adventures had always been the highlight of her day then, and her most cherished memories now.

"I would even venture to say," he continued, "that given recent events, it's safe to assume that you still do."

He made one final length of the pool and then pulled himself out of the water. She tried not to notice the way the afternoon sun made his still-wet skin seem to glisten, and the way the fabric of his trousers clung to his body like a second skin. She noted his strong legs and (she was going straight to hell for this one) shapely posterior as he bent to gather his discarded clothes. He carelessly draped them over one arm, obviously with no intention of re-dressing, and then approached her.

"So tell me Miss Lisbon," he said, with a teasing twinkle in his eye. "What precisely brought you to my home this fine day?"

"I have been doing a lot of thinking about what happened in the stables," she said.

She had decided on the way over that there was no point beating about the bush, despite her own embarrassment in discussing their scandalous little interlude. "All day and all night I have ruminated upon it and yet it refuses to leave my mind."

"If it comforts you, my lady, I too have thought of nothing else," said Jane, seriously, dropping his jovial persona. "Except to wonder if you would ever be in my arms again."

She found herself studying the arms in question, remembering how they had felt as they wrapped around her; strong, yet somehow gentle at the same time, and how she craved to throw herself into them now, but she forced herself to look away.

"Did you speak to Miss Van Pelt?" he asked. "I know you were worried that an attachment between us would cause her pain."

"I did. It seems you are the winner of our wager, Jane," she said, with a rueful smile. "Your Mr Rigsby has made her an offer of marriage, and you will be pleased to hear she has accepted."

"That is truly wonderful news," he said, flashing her that brilliant smile. "I am very glad to hear they have both found happiness. And she does not carry any resentment for you or me?" he asked cautiously, knowing Teresa would be most upset if their love had caused her to lose her friend.

"On the contrary, she gives us her whole-hearted blessing," she said. "In fact, she was surprised to hear that we were not engaged already."

She did not dare look at him as she uttered the last few words, and felt the colour rising in her cheeks once again.

"Which leaves only the heart of Lord Mashburn to be crushed by the news," he said.

The mention of the lord brought Teresa's anger towards him back with a full force; the fact that Jane did not yet know of his deception having momentarily slipped her mind.

"I say, you have nothing to fear on that score," she said, viciously, and then recounted everything she had overheard between her father and the Lord the previous day. Jane listened to her tale with an unreadable expression on his face, and when she had finished, was silent for a few moments, as though taking it all in.

"I always knew Mashburn was the manipulative type," he said. "And your father would do anything to secure your happiness, Teresa, but such calculated deception I did not foresee."

"I am furious with both of them," said Teresa, vehemently, "and so should you be, Jane. They played us both for fools."

"And are we not fools?" he asked. "For all these years, the woman I love has been right under my nose, and it took the threat of losing you to someone else to make me see it. A fool indeed."

"So you are not angered by this revelation?" she asked, greatly surprised by how well he was taking this.

"Of course I am," he said. "But how much so, depends on the outcome."

"The outcome?" she asked, knowing what he meant, but wanting him to say it all the same.

He reached for her hand and entwined her fingers with hers. Her heart stuttered at the sudden contact of bare skin as he ran his thumb gently backwards and forwards over the back of her hand.

"With Mashburn out of the equation, our path is clear," he said, quietly, gazing into her eyes. "Nothing stands in our way."

He studied those emerald eyes he knew so well and loved so dearly, and saw panic rise in them as she realized what he was getting at. He tightened his hand on hers to counteract the flight reflex he knew was coming, and lovingly touched her face so she wouldn't try to look away.

"You must know my wishes on this subject," he said. "So, my dearest, loveliest Teresa, it is up to you."

He'd never felt this nervous in his life before. Not on his first day at the school in London, not even when he and Mashburn had fallen victim to that group of armed ruffians in a back alley on a later trip to the capital. Such weak-minded individuals had been easily placated by a combination of his mental acuity and Mashburn's fat moneybags. But this was torture, standing and waiting for her answer, knowing that this woman had the power either to ensure his happiness, or seal his doom forevermore. Bandits with knives were child's play compared to this.

He felt her start to tremble, her pulse racing, and she took a series of deep, calming breaths.

"I'm sorry Jane," she said, her eyes downcast. "I can't."

To Jane, this was obviously what it felt like to be stabbed in the heart. It was as though somebody had taken a hold of it, attacked it with a blade and then ripped it cleanly from his chest all in a single second. He would surely die from this pain, slowly and torturously; there could be no recovery from such a disappointment.

He forced himself to look at her again, to be a gentleman, even while he felt his soul being cleaved in two, for surely she too must be hurting. But to his astonishment, there was a smile playing at her lips, and her body was still shaking though not from sorrow, but from mirth. As laughter began to bubble out of her, to his mingled relief, and irritation he realized that he'd been had.

"Why you little-"

"I'm sorry," she said again, through her giggles. "But I wasn't finished."

As his heart rate began to return to normal, he felt her hand reach up and tenderly stroke his jawline. "What I was going to say," she said, gently, "was that I couldn't possibly give you an answer to a question you never asked."

"Excuse me?"

She gave a little smile. "Think back, Patrick," she said. "Your intentions have been perfectly clear, but you never actually _asked_ me."

By the Lord, she was right. They had discussed it after the kissing but he'd never come right out and said it, had he? He'd just assumed that would be the next step, but he should have known that wouldn't be enough for her.

"You are right," he said. "Forgive me, my love. Both for that, and for _this_."

She only had time to look mildly confused before he swept her into his arms, carried her to the pool, and unceremoniously dropped her into the water. He doubled up laughing as she broke the surface of the water with a shriek of disbelief, eyes blazing.

"Now we are even," he said, reaching out a hand to help her out. She accepted it gratefully, but rather than begin climbing up the bank, gave it a sharp tug so he fell in too. It was now her turn to laugh as he popped up beside her, looking mildly shocked.

"Now we are even," she corrected him. "An eye for an eye."

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her against him, revelling in the feel of her tiny frame against his body. "Marry me," he whispered.

"Is that an order or a request?"

"Whichever is more likely to have you accept me," he said. "For I would ask it any way you choose, or do whatever you wish, to have you be mine."

She wound her arms around his neck, finding that despite the cool water, his skin was warm to the touch.

"What a fine thing, to have the great Patrick Jane at mercy to my every whim," she said. "To honour my every wish."

"Agree to be my wife and I always shall," he said. "My ignorance has cost us too many years already, and I do not intend to repeat that mistake."

"Neither do I," she said, drawing him in for a soft kiss, which steadily grew more and more passionate until they were both gasping for breath.

"You still haven't answered me yet," he said, when their lips had parted.

"Can you not guess?"

He smirked. "I have learned not to assume anything where you are concerned, my love."

"Then my answer is yes, you fool," she said fondly. "For who else would have you, if not me?"

"Who indeed?" he said, and full of joy, kissed her again.

For fear of catching cold, they soon abandoned the aquatic activities, and instead chose to lay out under the sunshine so their clothes might dry before they returned to the house, and awkward questions. Luckily, this area was so far from the main house that none of the servants came out here very often, leaving them undisturbed.

Happily, the kissing continued for several hours as the last rays of the afternoon sun beat down upon them and it began to sink beneath the horizon. She sighed in contentment as he planted a series of slow, languid kisses down her neck, teasing at the neckline of her gown and nudging aside her hair that had long since tumbled down from its chignon.

It was as if these last few days had never even happened. All the heartache and confusion seemed to have melted away like dew drops in these last blissful hours, leaving her happier than she could ever remember being.

"I could bribe Mr. Wainwright to marry us tonight," he said, between kisses.

"We cannot," she said, running a hand lazily up and down his arm. "We must tell my father first. We must do this properly, in the eyes of God."

"I don't want to wait any longer," he breathed. She was in little doubt as to what he was alluding to, and felt her own body clench momentarily in anticipation. If the kissing was anything to go by, the benefits of marriage were going to be positively _divine_.

"We must. Grace will no doubt want to be there, my father and Mashburn will want to rejoice in their success and imagine the joy a wedding will bring to all our other friends in town. Besides," she wriggled against him, and grinned at the sharp intake of breath he took, "good things happen to he who waits."

He chuckled to himself, and placed a final kiss on her forehead.

"I do not know why I continue to argue with you, my love, when we both know I could not deny you anything, today of all days." Abruptly, he got to his feet, and dusted the little excess dirt from his clothes. "Come, let us tell your father of the happy news."

She let him pull her to her feet and place his coat about her shoulders as the first chill of early evening began to set in.

"My father will be insufferable," she said, taking his hand. The man, once her friend, now her fiancé, and soon to be her husband, squeezed hers comfortably.

"Mashburn will not let me forget this for the rest of our days." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "We owe them much."

"We do," she agreed, as a wicked smile began to spread over her face. "But they don't have to know that, do they? I think we ought to teach them a lesson, about keeping their noses out of other people's business."

An equally devilish smiled graced his features, and she pushed back the momentary urge to pull him behind the nearest tree and throw herself onto him. But all in good time.

"I love you," she said, instead.

"And I you, my dear friend. And I, you."

**A/N: Fans of Austen, I don't think I need to tell you which scene I borrowed from the BBC adaptation of **_**Pride and Prejudice**_**. I hope you liked it. I sure did. **

**One more chapter to go, an epilogue by Donna. Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed our story; I had a blast writing it.**

**To Donna, my friend and esteemed writing partner, I say a huge thank you for allowing me to do this story with you. I know AU's are a specialty of yours and I would never have dreamed of attempting one without your skill and guidance. I couldn't ask for a better writing partner. **


	11. The Very Long Epilogue

A/N: This was supposed to be a brief epilogue, but I'm afraid I was reluctant to leave this alternate universe waterbaby and I created, so it turned into a full-length chapter. I hope you don't mind…

**Epilogue**

_**One month later…**_

It was the night before her wedding, and Teresa sat before her mirror, absently brushing her hair. In some ways, the past month of their engagement had gone by quickly, in other ways…She flushed thinking how difficult it had been for she and Jane to keep their hands off one another and not anticipate their wedding night. She paused in her brushing, meeting her sparkling green eyes in the mirror.

Every time they met, it was the same. It would start with joy at seeing one another, affection in their easy friendly banter, but then he would innocently (or so it seemed) touch her, and she felt she might melt into a puddle on the floor. He would look at her with familiar mischief, and next thing she knew, he would corner her in the library or pull her into an alcove to ravage her mouth and bring her roughly to his body.

Things had gotten so heated between them, that even Lady May had noticed and had begun appointing not so subtle chaperones, whether it be Lord Virgil or a maid or even the hapless Bertram. This was all very right and proper, but since Jane and Teresa had been raised and treated as siblings all their lives, it had been a difficult adjustment. Jane had merely taken it as a challenge, and Teresa, with her own adventurous spirit, had easily gone along with him, and secret assignations had become the order of the day, as well as the subject of most of her dreams at night.

A knock at the door interrupted her latest fantasy, and she welcomed Lady May into her bedchamber.

"Dear Teresa," began her stepmother. "How are you this evening? Anxious for tomorrow, I imagine."

Teresa smiled. "Anxious to be married, that is true. It is all so like a dream." Of course, she didn't tell Lady May what kind of dreams she'd been having of late.

Lady May took a chair near Teresa's and watched as she continued her nighttime rituals.

"Was there something I could do for you, Mother?"

Lady May smiled, happy still whenever Teresa called her mother, but then the older woman's cheeks turned a very becoming pink.

"No, child," she said hesitantly. "I…well, here it is. I'm sorry your true mother could not be here for this, but I felt I'd be remiss if I didn't…speak in her stead this night."

"Oh?" Teresa laid down her brush and gave Lady May her full attention. "About what?" She tried to hide her knowing smile. _The Talk._ Lady May was attempting to give her _The Talk_.

"Why, your wedding night, of course," replied Lady May. "Do-_ahem_-do you have any questions, Teresa, about what to expect?"

Teresa blushed in spite of herself, for yes, she had many questions, but was excited to find the answers first hand with her husband after the wedding. From her exposure to animal husbandry she knew the natural mechanics of what was expected of her, and the way Jane made her heart flutter when he kissed her, and made desire pool low in her body as his kisses grew increasingly ardent, she had no doubt that giving herself to him would be nothing but pleasurable. But, now she thought of it, it would be nice to have some answers from an older, more experienced woman.

"Yes, I suppose I do. How—how can I be sure I'm…pleasing to him?"

Lady May thought a moment for the best way to answer. "A man is a simple creature, Teresa. All you need do is let him feel that he is pleasing you, and he will be pleased enough, I assure you."

Teresa knit her brow. She already knew that he liked her to touch his hair and his chest, to hold tightly to his strong arms, for he would alternately moan deep in his throat, or purr like a kitten in response.

"But I must warn you," she continued. "The first night with him may not be quite so…pleasing, I'm afraid. It will likely be painful, and"—her voice lowered to a whisper—"there may be a bit of blood."

"Painful?" She supposed that could be true. The cows she had seen mating had sounded like they were in great pain indeed. Lady May rushed to reassure her.

"Only the once, but then…" The older woman's face took on a faraway expression. "Ever after, God willing, the marriage bed will be a place of deep love and happiness for you both."

"Oh," said Teresa, eyes round in wonder.

Lady May reached over and patted her hand. "I see the way Patrick looks at you, my dear. I have no doubt you will have no complaints from him—or _about_ him, for that matter."

"Mother!" Teresa gasped in shock, then laughed in spite of herself.

The older woman smiled and stood to take her leave. "Be happy, dear Teresa. Enjoy being young and in love and newly-wed. There is nothing so wonderful as a love match."

Teresa rose too, hugging her stepmother warmly. "Thank you. My own mother could not have done a better job tonight."

After Lady May had taken her leave, Teresa put on her night rail and wrap, then found the book she had been reading, Miss Jane Austen's _Emma, _hoping to take her mind off the coming excitement enough to get some sleep. But after staring at one page for ten minutes, her thoughts on Jane rather than the troubles of the novel's annoying heroine, she set the book down and got up to snuff out the lamp. But the cry of a rather sickly sounding night owl had her rushing to the window, a joyous smile upon her lips.

The window was already open to catch any wayward summer breezes, and Teresa looked down into the garden to see golden curls and white teeth illuminated by the moonlight.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed in mock annoyance. "You'll wake the whole house!"

But another voice filled the garden with laughter, and none other than Lord Mashburn stepped out of the shadows. Teresa gasped, her hand going to her wrap to pull it more tightly about her.

"'It is the East, and Teresa is the sun,'" quoth Lord Mashburn, obviously well into his cups. The way Jane stumbled into his friend, there was no doubt they were both roaring drunk.

"Hush, you drunken sots! How dare you call on a lady, three sheets to the wind!"

"Aw, Teresa," slurred Jane, "I couldn't wait to see you. Why don't you climb down here and I'll give you a taste of what's to come on our wedding night."

"Jane!"

Both men tittered.

"Forgive him, Miss Lisbon. All I've been hearing from Romeo here was how beautiful you are, and lovely, and how you make him laugh—"

"And don't forget beautiful," piped in Jane.

"I said that," snapped Mashburn. "So I told him, I said, 'Jane, why wait till morning? Go get the lass and put us both out of our misery.'"

"Lord Mashburn!" she cried, trying to sound scandalized, though she was trying desperately not to laugh. "If my father hears you, you'll both be sporting gunshot wounds at the wedding."

"Don't be like that, Miss Lisbon. Jane's just sowing the last of his wild oats before he must ever after wear the shackles of marriage."

Teresa's eyes widened. "Your oats better not be _too_ wild," she warned coldly, "or there will be no wedding."

"Teresa, I would never-!" He turned to Mashburn. "How dare you imply, sir, that I would be unfaithful to this beautiful, lovely, uh, beautiful lady? I demand satisfaction!"

"Jane!" said Teresa, suddenly fearful of what two angry, drunken noblemen might do to one another. She was about to run down the stairs and outside to intervene, but next thing she knew, Jane had thrown a punch at Mashburn—and missed. Mashburn had staggered out of the way, but once both men had regained their balance, Mashburn drew back his fist and landed a punch squarely on Jane's nose.

"Ow! You bastard!" Jane honked, clasping his throbbing nose with both hands. "I think you broke my bloody nose!"

"Here now! What's this all about?" Teresa gasped to hear her father's voice, then stepped back guiltily from the window as her father appeared outside in his nightclothes, shotgun in hand.

"Lord Virgil," chorused the drunks.

"Jane, is that you? And…Mashburn? What is the meaning of this, disturbing the peace of my home and harassing my daughter in this manner? You're getting married tomorrow, but I'll take back my blessing if this is to be the way of things."

"No, not at all, sir," said Jane sheepishly. He bowed, hand still on his nose. "My humble apologies. We were just out celebrating the upcoming nupchi—nupchil-wedding, and I'm afraid we got…carried away."

"Yes, sir," concurred Mashburn. "I beg your forgiveness for this…lapse in judgment. Please, blame the fine whiskey at The Rose and Crown."

Both men seemed to sober up before Lord Virgil's eyes.

"Well, get along home now, and leave Teresa in peace. She has a big day ahead of her—you all do. And Teresa," he said, turning toward the window where she had stepped out of the light. She was still listening, holding her breath.

"Yes, Father," she said contritely, appearing at the window again.

"I might have turned a blind eye to your nighttime shenanigans when you and Patrick were children, but I'll not have my only daughter ruined a day before her wedding."

"You knew?" she said, horrified.

"Of course I knew," he replied, looking pointedly at Jane. "I know all that occurs in my own house. Bertram!" he roared suddenly. The stableman must have been lurking nearby, for he arrived almost immediately.

"Yes, milord."

"See these gentleman home, will you?"

"Ay, milord." The big man grabbed each man by the back of the shirt, as he would miscreant children.

"Teresa, go back to bed," said her father, shaking his fist up at the window.

"Yes, Father," she said, but she was trying to hold back her amused smile, and, much to her delight, she saw that Lord Virgil was grinning as well. Then, rifle in hand, he ambled back toward the front door.

"See here, old man," complained Lord Mashburn haughtily, as Bertram propelled the two drunken men toward the carriage house. "Unhand me. I'm one of the richest men in England."

"I don't care a rat's arse if you are Croesus himself. Lord Virgil wants you gone, and I aim to see it done."

"I'm sorry Teresa!" came the distant voice of her fiancé. "I love you…"

Teresa laughed at the spectacle, and watched until the trio disappeared into the darkness. She shook her head, part of her wishing Jane had been alone, so that maybe he would have climbed up into her room, Romeo-style, and ended their torment as Lord Mashburn had suggested. With a sigh of resignation, she put out the light and climbed into bed, but it was some time before she settled herself enough to go to sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The wedding was an intimate affair, as was usual for the time. Only close friends and family assembled in the small chapel on the Lisbon estate. It was a beautiful summer morning. Teresa wore a dress of fine white muslin, six inches of French lace at the hem, and more lace at the fitted cap sleeves. Her dark hair was studded with pearls, curling chestnut tendrils at her ears and temples beneath a small lace cap. From her neck suspended her mother's golden crucifix.

When Jane saw her coming down the aisle on her father's arm, he drew in a sharp breath in wonder at her beauty. He smiled widely at her, then winced as the movement pulled at his aching nose. Teresa smiled in return, her eyes dancing at the two black eyes he sported.

_Serves him right_, she thought, although it didn't diminish his handsomeness, for he was resplendent in his blue cutaway coat with cream waistcoat and cravat. To his right stood Lord Mashburn as a witness, looking decidedly hung over, though his eyes glinted at her in unabashed good humor.

She was glad she had forgiven him for his subterfuge with her father; their interference had given her Jane after all, and now, this wonderful day. Forgiven also was the vicar, Mr. Wainwright, who would perform the rite. His new wife, Sarah, sat in the church in support of her husband's first wedding ceremony.

After Lord Virgil kissed Teresa's cheek and passed her hand to Jane's, Teresa gave her bridesmaid, Miss Van Pelt, her bouquet of pink tea roses. Mr. Rigsby smiled at his fiancé from the front pew. Then, Teresa turned to Jane. With a soft smile, he took her hands in his and looked into her eyes with a love so deep, she felt her throat tightening with emotion.

Mr. Wainwright began the ceremony, wherein he elicited their promises to love and to cherish, while Jane pledged to worship her with his body. As he said the words, his eyes sparkled with a wickedness she recognized as highly inappropriate for Church.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That evening, after the wedding breakfast had long ended, after the merrymakers had left and Teresa's trunks were packed, she found herself ensconced in what would be her new rooms as mistress of Jane's home. Her lady's maid had finished helping her bathe and dress, and she sat once again before a different mirror, peering at herself in a much finer silk nightgown and wrapper than the night before, for it came directly from her wedding trousseau. On the other side of the adjoining door, she knew, was Jane, also preparing for bed. _Her husband_. She shivered with nervousness.

A light tapping came on that door and she jumped a little.

"Teresa?" Jane asked tentatively. "May I come in?"

She took a deep breath, and rose to her feet, forcing a smile to appear on her pale face. "Yes," she called softly.

The doorknob turned and her husband entered her chamber, clad in a dark blue silk robe, his feet bare, a patch of smooth, lightly tan skin appearing in the _V _at his chest. His hair was slightly damp and tousled from his own recent bath, and with his two black eyes, he looked oddly like a recalcitrant schoolboy.

He smiled at her, his eyes devouring the sight of her in her bedclothes. Teresa's heart began pounding even harder, if that were possible. He walked over to her, his footsteps muffled by the deep gray carpeting. He put his hands on her slim shoulders and kissed her cheek. When he drew back, her face was no longer pale, but suffused with rosy color.

"Good evening, my wife," he said softly. "You look even more beautiful than you did in church this morning, if such a thing were possible."

"You flatter me, sir," she said, but she smiled in gratitude.

His face was serious. "I only speak the truth, Teresa." He took her hand then, leading her to the large canopied bed, its lavender curtains gathered at each of the four posts. They sat together at the foot, and, like that morning, he took both of her cool hands in his. He stared down at the silver ring he's placed on her left hand, twisting it idly around her small finger. He brought it to his lips, kissing it, his eyes tightly closed.

"I can't believe you are mine at last," he said.

"And you are mine," she said strongly, her inherent bravery coming to the fore. She looked at him possessively, and Jane's heart fluttered in his chest. He leaned forward and kissed her lips lightly, then drew back to look at her. She watched in amazement as his cheeks suddenly flushed with some unknown embarrassment.

"You must forgive me," he explained. "I'm nervous as a green lad."

"You?" she said in surprise.

She knew well that he was not lacking in experience with the fairer sex. He knew he had courted other women. He might not have told her any salacious details of their relationships, but she knew enough of the ways of men, especially men with his looks and charm, to have deduced he'd caught more than one lady on his hook.

"Ever since I returned from London the last time," he continued, "I haven't been able to look at any woman but you. Up until two months ago, I didn't know why that was. I thought I was suffering from some strange social ague, that it would pass with time. But now I realize that it was because no one else had captured my eye, or indeed, my heart, as you have, my love."

His smile was endearingly shy.

"And so it would seem I am a young boy again, nervous and unsure, yet eager to please."

"Well, given I have no expectations, you can't possibly fail with me."

"I'm so terribly relieved to hear that," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye, as his nervousness turned abruptly into anticipation.

His hands released hers to rest on either of her flushed cheeks, and slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he began kissing her like he'd always dreamed of doing, without restraint for her feminine sensibilities, without worry that they might be discovered. Her hands slid up his arms, one going to his hair, the other resting on the bare skin of his chest, and he fairly preened beneath her touch.

He gently lowered her to the bed, where he lay half on top of her, pressing her into the bedclothes with a passion that fueled her own. He had learned her mouth intimately these last weeks, learned how to make her nearly faint with the intensity of his ardor, but now, he was free to worship her body in the way he'd secretly longed to all his life. He skimmed his hands over the skin above her lacy nightgown, untying the ribbon there while his mouth moved to her ear, then her neck, then lower still. Her breath panted softly through her slightly opened lips, and her hands in his hair were driving him to distraction.

"Oh…Patrick," she whispered, as he parted her gown and found her breasts.

Soon he shed the rest of her clothes, then drew back to look at her.

"You're a goddess," he said in wonder.

Teresa watched through heavy lids as he removed his robe and knelt again on the bed. She began to tremble as he covered her body with his, experiencing for the first time the pleasure of heated skin upon skin.

"Teresa," he said. "I'm afraid this might cause you pain, my love."

She nodded. "It's all right…I trust you. I've always trusted you."

With a small smile, he kissed her again, believing with all his heart that from the instant he'd first seen her as a child, they had been destined for this moment.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips. And he proceeded to keep his earlier vow to the letter.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I never officially collected on my wager with you, Mrs. Jane," said Mr. Jane, sometime later.

They had finally found their way beneath the bedclothes, where they lay, limbs entwined, her dark head resting on his bare chest. He felt her smile against his skin, as she thrilled to the sound of her new name upon his lips.

"I believe the bet was that should you find the better match for Miss Van Pelt, you would get to choose a man to court me. If you are offering now to find me another match, I'd say you are a tad too late." She kissed the patch of skin nearest her mouth, pleased when he trembled a little in reaction to her touch.

"Aw, perhaps you are right. So, does this mean you'll never doubt my judgment again?"

She snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Only in the area of matchmaking, Husband. After last night's visit to my window, I'd say your judgment can be somewhat impaired at times, especially when heavy drink is involved."

He groaned, flinging an arm over his eyes in renewed embarrassment. "You will never let me forget that, will you?"

She chuckled. "Of course not. As if you have ever forgotten—and are often quick to remind me—of all of my failings and foibles of the past."

"I suppose that is the drawback of marrying your lifelong friend," he said, feigning regret. "You have enough intimate knowledge of me to blackmail me for years to come."

"I know," she said happily. "Isn't it grand?"

He moved quickly, pinning her beneath him, unfathomable joy shining in his eyes.

"Indeed it is, my love. Indeed it is."

**THE END**

A/N: Thanks again to my partner in crime (or at least, fanfiction), waterbaby134. She is a joy to work with, and as you have seen, a wonderful writer. We have plans to work together again sometime, but in the meantime, please be sure to look her up and put her on author alert, so you won't miss her solo efforts, such as her latest, "On My Own."

And thanks to you, our lovely readers. Your love and encouragement keep us inspired to keep writing.


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